


All the excuses you need

by lisea18



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bottom Aziraphale, Devotion, Domesticity, First Time, Fluff, Frotting, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Penetrative Sex, Porn with Feelings, Slow Burn, Smut, a bit of bondage (arms tied), a bit of overstimulation, after almost-armageddon, at least I hope lol, both of them need healing, handjob, male genitalia, once they get started they will be having lots of sex you are warned lol, service top Crowley, sort of angst, then they will have less, top crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 94,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisea18/pseuds/lisea18
Summary: Being free isn’t an easy task. One needs to let go of fear, paranoia and old wounds. One needs to learn to allow himself to live as he pleases without worrying about rejection and repercussions. Fortunately both can count on each other as they navigate those new waters and even some unforeseen ones as feelings are finally allowed to bloom unrestrained.  (This fic is completed so don’t worry about it not getting finished, it is 95 666 words long. Updates every Friday)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 258
Kudos: 271
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens, Tip Top Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I do not own Good Omens. I do not make any money from writing this. (Yes I am “old” lol)
> 
> English isn’t my first language so forgive any mistakes. A thousand thanks to https://shes-beauty-and-shes-grace7.tumblr.com who is betaing this story!  
> A special thank you to campbirdvan who agreed to beta (but for personal reasons couldn’t continue).
> 
> Thanks to guardian-of-soho and ineffablegame for sharing my message on tumblr and helping me get a beta.
> 
> **Do not repost and/or copy even partially. Thank you.**
> 
> Summary : Being free isn’t an easy task. One needs to let go of fear, paranoia and old wounds. One needs to learn to allow himself to live as he pleases without worrying about rejection and repercussions. Fortunately both can count on each other as they navigate those new waters and even some unforeseen ones as feelings are finally allowed to bloom unrestrained. **(This fic is completed so don’t worry about it not getting finished, it is 95 666 words long. Updates every Friday)**
> 
> **This fanfic contains graphic depiction of sex. If you are under 16 years old, or do not feel at ease with this DO NOT READ. By continuing to read, you are taking responsibility for your own actions.**
> 
> Tags and Warnings : domesticity, slow burn, devotion, fluff, sort of angst, hurt/comfort, humour, at least I hope lol, both of them need healing, nightmares, smut, first time, top Crowley, bottom Aziraphale, male genitalia, frotting, handjob, penetrative sex, porn with feelings, after almost-armageddon, Service Top Crowley, once they get started they will be having lots of sex you are warned lol, then they will have less, a bit of bondage (arms tied), a bit of overstimulation 
> 
> Feel free to ask if you need a warning added (gently) 

# All the Excuses You Need

Echoes of raised voices penetrated the fog of Crowley’s mind as sleep slowly but surely faded. For a moment he contemplated burying his face, particularly his ears, under the cushions that surrounded him.

It was an argument coming from below him. He could recognize Aziraphale’s voice.

And the slow rise of anxiety in it.

Time to get up.

He squashed the spark of terror that tried to claim him as one would squash the butt of a cigarette to prevent any fire from destroying everything in its path. They were safe. Heaven and Hell wouldn’t try anything after their little demonstration. At least not so soon.

With a snap of his fingers, he changed from comfortable silk pyjamas to his usual classy and cool attire (if he did say so himself). In one fluid movement, he unfolded his glasses, shielding his eyes behind them. Deeming himself ready enough, he ventured from the previously unused bedroom to the hidden stairs that would bring him to the bookshop.

“Terribly sorry, sir, but it is not for sale.”

Aziraphale’s voice was clipped and anxious, on the verge of anger.

“I brought that ridiculous sum of money _in cash_ for you!”

A client. Exasperated, fuming, almost screaming but trying to control himself.

For an angel, Aziraphale had a knack for pissing off customers, something that Crowley couldn’t help but admire. But then, the angel’s purpose wasn’t to sell anything to people trying to buy very limited rare editions. And he did that with the utmost politeness and an affable passive aggressive mastery that tended to drive his interlocutors up the walls. And Crowley up the curtains.

“I am not leaving your shop without that book,” the man insisted.

 _Oh, really?_ Crowley always did love a challenge. He peered out one of the windows to the street and saw a sleek expensive car parked (as rich, self-important people tended to), taking two places instead of one as if they owned the street, or as if the other cars weren’t good enough to be close to their fancy vehicles. Maybe both. Crowley parked like that, too, sometimes; it was a very effective way to trash lots of people’s days.

He slithered to the back door and sauntered up to the car; it was a beauty - not holding a candle to his Bentley, obviously - but still worthy of a compliment. It sure would be a shame to damage it.

Crowley kicked a wheel.

A loud and obnoxious ringing started immediately.

Crowley smiled. _Yup. Touchy. Like its owner._

Fingers shoved partially in his pockets, he made his way to the bookshop entrance and opened the door just as the client barged outside. With a smirk and a polite salute, as Crowley held the door and let him pass. _Good riddance._

“Oh!” exclaimed Aziraphale upon seeing him enter.

His gaze followed the client to his car, and he stopped twisting his hands and fidgeting. He glanced at Crowley, who was supposed to be resting upstairs, and who helpfully sidestepped the door. In seconds, the angel got the idea and flipped his sign to “closed”, drew the curtains, and locked the door.

The alarm stopped blaring. Blessed silence or cursed, depending on whose side you were, then an exclamation of surprise and incredulity reached them. Then, pounding on the wood and screaming.

“You!!! You were open not a minute ago!”

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley by the elbow and rushed them both to one side; lowering them so they sat out of sight, protected by a pile of books. 

“I know you’re in there! Open up, you bastard!”

Crowley tilted his head toward Aziraphale in an attempt to convey just how fitting he found that title.

Aziraphale huffed silently, a small smile and a twinkle in his eyes betraying him.

Kicking soon joined the banging and shouting.

“He was trying to buy my Diamond Sutra translation!”

“How rude of him to try to buy a rare book in a ‘library’ specialized in them. Tsk, tsk,” agreed Crowley with the teasing fondness he reserved for Aziraphale.

The intensity of the display outside had dimmed, but Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t dare move from their hiding spot for fear of it starting in earnest again. Huddled together as they were, the angel would have described them as two schoolboys hiding from friends or parents – however, the demon would argue they were top secret spies risking their lives. And Crowley didn’t wish to be anywhere else but pressed against his angel while he acted like a bastard.

“I will sue you!” the man howled.

“My my, he’s been at it for at least 30 minutes,” mentioned Crowley, checking his very expensive watch.

He hadn’t checked it at the start of their misadventure, but expected it to have timed the event anyway, so it had.

“Well, he did really want that book,” Aziraphale mumbled.

A slow, delighted smile graced Crowley’s lips.

“Really?” he pushed.

Aziraphale nervously tugged on his waistcoat and adjusted his bowtie.

“I might recall him coming by at least one or two times, maybe three. I ought to have put that book at the back, but…”

“The back is already full,” ended Crowley for him.

They heard the sound of tires screeching on the pavement. They waited a bit, in case it was a feint, and the man came back to scream and bang some more. Once deemed safe, they looked at each other and dissolved into muffled giggles.

Aziraphale motioned distractedly toward the street as he rose and dusted himself. 

“Did you just _bless_ the asshole?” Crowley asked indignantly.

“Oh, just a little, for safe travel for himself and the poor people in his way. I do feel dreadfully sorry for causing him such grief…”

“Then you should have sold him the book. If he wanted it so much he would have taken good care of it.”

The look he received for his cheek would have terrified a lesser demon, but only elicited a slow grin from this particular one.

“He wouldn’t have been able to properly appreciate it,” Aziraphale argued.

“I don’t think anyone but you can.”

“My point exactly, dear.” 

They had relocated to the kitchenette and Crowley was lounging against the doorframe as he watched Aziraphale slowly grind coffee grain in an antique machine that ought to be in a prehistoric museum. As it was, he owned it only to be able to make Crowley some coffee. Even if the demon was alright with a miracled one, Aziraphale wouldn't hear of it. The smell was full of distant memories of ancient times that teased Crowley’s consciousness. Of coffee, of course, but also of rain and a wing draped above his head to protect him from it. It was those acts of kindness, of knowing him, that always got Crowley.

He imagined entering the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s soft middle, the surprised yelp it would elicit. Then he would lean his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder to watch him making Crowley his favourite beverage. The scent of the angel’s cologne, of his skin, would be delicious and he would be pliant in his embrace, both of them happily sharing that precious moment.

He did not move, simply soaking the scene up with his eyes and storing it with all the others. If Aziraphale hoarded books, Crowley hoarded memories of his angel (and sometimes tokens).

“You know, you don’t have to pretend anymore,” he mentioned as an afterthought.

“Whatever do you mean, dear?”

“You could stop being a bookshop. It could simply be your home. You don’t have to fool Gabriel anymore by making this place useful.”

The spoon with which Aziraphale was pressing the dregs to get more coffee clattered to the ground.

“Oh, dear me, so clumsy,” he fretted.

He bent to pick up the spoon, clearly using that excuse to evade Crowley’s gaze. He then went to clean it up in the sink, busying himself to escape the conversation.

 _Too fast_ , thought Crowley. Always too bloody fast. His angel was a creature of habit, needing stability to feel safe. The threat from Heaven was gone, but it would take time for Aziraphale to truly be able to believe it, to feel it, to allow it, to shed years of self-preservation.

“Thank you for allowing me to take your bed,” Crowley said, smoothly changing the subject.

He would be damned, again, if he was the one to distress his angel when the situation didn’t absolutely call for it. In due time, he would relax into their new situation and Crowley would help, accompany and wait as he always did.

“I’m surprised you’re up already, but glad, of course,” Aziraphale replied, smiling as he gave Crowley his boiling-hot coffee and turned to tend to his tea.

They moved to their usual spot: Crowley sprawling on the sofa, Aziraphale sitting primly and comfily on the armchair directly in front of it.

“I do hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable.”

“Not to worry, angel, it was very soft and smelled like you.”

“Oh, how surprising; I never used it.”

But Crowley had expected it to be soft and comfy like his angel, to smell like him so he could drift off to slumber in a peaceful way. The bed had of course obliged, so very happy to be of use after centuries upon centuries of cradling only books.

“You are, of course, always welcome to it,” Aziraphale was deep in his tea, as if wanting to predict their future with the leaves floating in it. “I would prefer it, even, if you were to rest for a few years as you are prone to do,” he added, finally laying his eyes on Crowley.

This was important, so Crowley removed his glasses and pretended to inspect the polish on one of his nails.

“I do not plan to take such a nap anytime soon, but I will keep that in mind.”

He hadn’t realized Aziraphale had been worried he would disappear on him once the apocalypse had been averted. Suddenly his disquiet as Crowley complained of being exhausted and needing to nap for centuries made sense.

“Do as you please, dear. Who knows? I might discover something as fun as the gavotte. Did I tell you about that friend of mine and how he was banned from his former club before joining the one I was in?” 

He tended to forget how much Aziraphale had missed him, because he spoke fondly of his human friends and memories of those times, revisiting them often. At first, Crowley thought it was a way of taunting him, showing him he could do fine without him, could be adventurous, even, break a few rules. But as time passed, Crowley realized that Aziraphale was, in fact, filling Crowley in, giving him the pieces of himself he had missed. The angel tried to show him he was still interesting, worth staying awake for.

Crowley lounged and listened to his angel babble about a story he had certainly already heard, but didn’t mind listening to again. Crowley had understood his plea: _stay with me, even if you sleep, stay._ And he had accepted, replied that he would remain with him, awake.

## ***

Crowley loved schemes and clever mischief, planning for them and putting them in practice. He was a planner, of sorts, and prided himself on being on the lookout for trouble. He had known Aziraphale would need support; that it would be difficult for Aziraphale and was ready for it, ready to do whatever it took to help him.

He hadn’t foreseen his own problems coming at him like a freight train without a brake.

They had started catching up to him the moment he had stepped out of the bookshop to go back home. Because he couldn’t stay glued to the angel, could he? Fear had gripped him, cold sweat doing nothing to ease the sensation of flames on his skin, to drown the smell of ash. He couldn’t bear the thought.

Not wishing to alarm Aziraphale, he had hidden in the back alley, breathing slowly and plotting. This always helped him. The small antique plate waiting to be filled with food for the rats had given him an idea. They were scared of him, his minions, he could use them to keep an eye on his angel. News travelled fast when one had a thousand friends. His own network of rodents (1).

After almost eating a rat (to prove how serious he was), he drove back home in the comfort of his Bentley, which helpfully played Queen’s “Love of My Life”.

He had been doing so well until now… but then again he had been at Aziraphale’s side until now. It was being away from the angel that worried him. As soon as he had set foot in his apartment, Crowley had to resist the urge to call Aziraphale and check in on him. Instead he made sure the rats could reach his flat.

A second problem had surfaced as he watched “ _Mean Girls_ ”. He felt pointless, aimless. Working for Hell hadn’t been great. He hadn’t liked the missions he received, not to mention the last one, but he had enjoyed the mischief he created. Could he still do that? Maybe he should aim for troubles that would breed positive results once the chaos settled. Like he had with the apple, even if he would never admit it (2). 

That, he could do. As he could focus on helping Aziraphale. One could easily think the angel was a creature of pleasures, of wants, easily tempted. On the contrary he was one bloody stubborn bastard. He didn’t indulge in excess and more importantly, he never ever tried something that he couldn’t justify to heaven.

Sleeping? Out of the question, he was a guardian, a protector. Angels didn’t need to rest. He wasn’t tired.

Food? Yes, as to not arouse attention from humans.

Bathing? He did not need to wash or to relax.

The barber? Yes, he had to look convincing to the humans and it was a way to glean information.

Dancing? That wasn’t proper, angels did not dance. Except when they missed their demon and needed friends so much they were willing to risk it.

Sex? Aziraphale had shown a scientific interest, but nothing more, and the ordeal with the Nephilim (3) had certainly killed any wish in him to even consider it.

Crowley had been the exception. Aziraphale had readied excuses to hide him from the other angels, bought books that smelled evil especially for that sole purpose (Gabriel and his damned nose). But Aziraphale had known he could never get away with it if they were discovered. Yet, he had done it.

How many things had Aziraphale forsaken because he didn’t think he could get away with it? Crowley’s new mission, his purpose, was to make sure the angel got the best that life had to offer, could try anything he wanted.

He had planted the seed in Aziraphale’s mind, and his clever angel would let it grow - all Crowley had to do was water it and make sure the angel had everything he needed to bloom. After all, Crowley was a good gardener. He just wondered what directions Aziraphale would choose the tackle first.

… Could he phone the angel yet?

_Damn it._

_Curse it all._ It had felt so good at the Ritz, to be free, to _feel_ free. He had uncoiled like he had never before, enjoyed the unrestrained adoration Aziraphale had bestowed on him. And now that emotion was a distant bittersweet sensation that he craved.

He hoped it wouldn’t be like Her love. Something he had tasted enough to miss, but would never taste again.

With the grace of someone lacking a spine, he slithered out of his bedding and shuffled towards his private garden.

“Alright.”

The plants stood at attention. Leaves arched high, displayed. Trembling to a minimum. Crowley let his gaze trail on them, slowly. 

“The angel liked you.”

The plants preened, remembering the shower of amazement and compliments Aziraphale had lathered on them. He hissed and they went right back to shivering in their pots.

“Don’t rest on your laurels.”

Confusion seized the plants, as none were a laurel, and none were resting on said variety of plant. But the threat was clear, so they quaked some more, and that seemed to please their owner and tormenter. 

Walking with the lack of bones a model would envy, Crowley roamed the room, stopping abruptly to randomly inspect a leaf. Satisfied, he looked for his mister before remembering Hastur had destroyed it. With a snap, he procured a new one.

He would have to ask Aziraphale about the expression on Hastur’s face when he realized “Crowley” was immune to holy water. He hoped Hastur would have nightmares about the plant mister for centuries, not knowing if it had really contained holy water, wondering if he had almost dissolved like his pal, Ligur. What a pleasant thought.

Yes. He would ask Aziraphale. Crowley liked how he lit up as he recounted his exploits in Hell, how proud of himself he was, the joy he radiated from playing Hell and Michael “for suckers”.

“Who knows, if you outdo yourself, I might gift one of you to him.”

Crowley smirked as he could almost taste the rivalry that instantly started to develop between his plants. He should have tried that one sooner. But then, they hadn’t met his angel until recently.

## ***

A few days later, the surveillance plan was mostly successful and had the added benefit of horrifying and worrying all his neighbours. Even Miss Aigrie had mentioned it to Crowley when she caught him in the elevator. But Crowley was alternating between dialling Aziraphale’s number and abruptly hanging up before the first ring, and stalking the hidden room where he kept the things he had amassed to give to his angel so that he always had a reason to come by.

The rats had caught on soon that doing an hourly report was beneficial. If they waited more, Crowley was in such a state of anguish, it didn’t do to bring news, even good news, because he caught them before they could even squeak and shook them to make them speak faster. Which didn’t work and tended to slow them down but the demon couldn’t help himself.

Hence, they came every hour to tell him that the nice angel that fed them every night hadn’t moved from the bookshop and was still reading with hot cocoa. Nothing happened, his habits were like clockwork. Boring. Perfect for a rodent to pretend having kept an eye but instead gone rummaging in the cupboard full of delicious cookies.

And then regretted ever being born as they realized the angel wasn’t at his table anymore, or in the kitchen, or looking for a book, or in the bookshop at all. He had disappeared. For an unknown time, unfortunately, because this rat hadn’t been the first to get the splendid idea to skip his job to pilfer food.

All this explained why Crowley was now staring at a baby rat and felt dread before it even opened its cute little mouth. For one, until this very moment, they had all been adults, and he knew they knew that Crowley had a soft spot for children of all species. Secondly, the poor thing was huddled in a corner and shaking worse than his plants, which was saying something.

“Where is Aziraphale?” he asked as gently as a panicked demon could.

No answer. He grabbed the rodent and stuffed it in his jacket’s pocket and sprinted to the door, already mentally listing all the places the angel loved and could have gone to. He tried not to think of the worst scenarios and, as one tried not to think of an elephant when asked not to, those particular thoughts swam at the surface of his consciousness like sharks around a bleeding prey.

The door pulled open as soon as he reached it, not wishing to be snatched from its hinges. Even if he had aimed to open it the wrong way, the door had fast realized it was better for everyone or everything if it was versatile.

There was a gasp (from an angel). A colourful swear (from a demon). A relieved squeak (from a rodent).

There was Aziraphale, cradling a paper bag against his chest and looking guilty as one did when one had been pacing up and down the corridor for at least half an hour and was considering leaving for the hundredth time. Crowley knew that had to be the case.

“Aziraphale!”

“Y… yes, that… that is me, that is… that is my name.”

Crowley gave a little hiss that didn’t alarm Aziraphale, as he knew it wasn’t aimed at him, and started circling him, to make sure nothing was amiss. As he did so and came back to his left, the baby rat poked his muzzle out of the pocket.

“Oh, you made a friend!” exclaimed a delighted Aziraphale.

“Ngk, nnn hn, no.”

As soon as Aziraphale had presented his hand, the baby rat had jumped into the angel’s hand and happily nuzzled his fingers.

“Then, pray tell, why are you keeping it in your pocket?” Aziraphale asked pointedly with an infuriating assurance.

“...Dinner?” tried Crowley.

There was a very long and pregnant pause. The baby rat had disappeared in Aziraphale’s sleeves then had been cajoled out and set free once the angel was assured the rat knew the way back home. Said angel then cleared his throat and adjusted his bowtie.

“I will pretend you just invited me to dinner. Which I gladly accept. Shall I enter or shall we take a stroll in the park before eating?”

Crowley didn’t know if Aziraphale was sparing his dignity or was too utterly disgusted at the idea that Crowley, a snake, mind you, would eat a rat. An answer he might not want to get. And he had to concentrate on the question he had been asked.

Did he want Aziraphale in his home? Yes, of course, anywhere he wanted to be, anytime. He had already been there after all. Even if the circumstances had been dire and he hadn’t had the occasion to actually look around and see… see the tokens Crowley had kept.

Go- Sat- Someone, Aziraphale looked more uneasy by the minute. The paper bag was ruffled beyond saving and he was starting to retreat, opening his mouth to babble. Crowley spun on his heels and motioned for him to follow. He had never been good at refusing Aziraphale anything. Nor did he wish to.

He could have taken the offer for a walk. His angel had been gracious enough to offer him a way out but… he had the feeling Aziraphale wanted to be invited in. So be it. The door closed behind them and they remained in the entrance, frozen like the two idiots they were.

“What brings you here?” he wondered, “Nothing wrong, I hope?” he asked, with a hint of worry. It suddenly occurred to him that might be the reason for the angel to come here of all places.

“Oh certainly not, dear. Just… I… well… I was getting a muffin, you know from that nice place a few blocks from the bookshop? With the dear lady who always puts a cherry on top of it for me, such a dear, really. So, well… hum… there’s a flower shop nearby, you know? I can’t recall if I ever took you to it, but it’s a pleasant place, lots of flowers and lovely people.”

“Yes,” encouraged Crowley, smiling slightly and hoping his fondness wasn’t too visible without the protection of his glasses.

The paper bag was roughly yet kindly (only Aziraphale could manage that) shoved into his hands.

“I thought of you. Since you like plants.”

Crowley blinked.

“For me?” he asked with the same charmed surprise he had exhibited on the Garden’s wall. 

It wasn’t Aziraphale’s first gift to him. Not at all. But this one… this one was different. It wasn’t hidden between walls of denial of their relationship, it was presented as a real gift, as something that had reminded the angel of him. He carefully opened the bag, loathing the idea of damaging the paper (even it was precious!), and slowly revealed delicate white and blue flowers. Crowley lifted his gaze from the beautiful plant, a discreet sheen obscuring the gold of his eyes.

“Myosotis,” offered Aziraphale.

Or commonly named “Forget-me-not”. In the language of flowers, it represented memories, a love considered true and eternal, fidelity despite hardship or eventually a love that bloomed. 

“And you came all the way here…” Crowley trailed off.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. He clung to the plant so his hands couldn’t reach for his angel. It was the same as when he had been given the holy water. And yet so different. This plant was Aziraphale’s feelings for him, it was his heart. He hadn’t asked for it this time. But… he couldn’t afford to spook Aziraphale, to go too fast.

Still in the corridor, in that part of Crowley’s flat that was safe and neutral, they stood in front of each other, not looking at one another, because their eyes would convey the words they couldn’t yet formulate.

“I… I figured, I figured I could come here now. Since… since we’re free. There’s nothing to fear, I am allowed… aren’t I? Well I mean, if… if you… are amiable…”

“Yes,” whispered-screamed Crowley in his rush to agree. ~~~~

His courageous, courageous angel. Courage is not the absence of fear; it is acting in spite of it. Aziraphale’s heart had always been in the right place, his kindness had been a guide for his choices. And now that he was free, all his acts of defiance had been a step toward Crowley. Taking and holding his hand in the bus bringing them back to London (4). And now, coming to Crowley’s flat, a place that had been forbidden since the beginning.

“I would rather fancy a bit of fresh air,” requested Aziraphale, daring a glance toward Crowley.

The type of look that could make Crowley agree to anything without thinking.

“Yes, of course. Just let me make a home for this one.”

Aziraphale didn’t move from the entrance, letting Crowley settle his gift in private. Which suited him perfectly. The plants were obviously curious to see him bring a new addition and he could see them craning their leaves to catch a glimpse of the angel.

Myositis needed a bit of light so he placed it in front of the window but behind another plant that would shield it from the midday sun. He buried a finger in its soil and elected to give it a bit of water. Softly, he caressed its petals.

“You will thrive here,” he assured, his voice like honey, “I will take very good care of you, beautiful. Just let me know if you need anything.”

With a last infatuated look, a last trail of fingertips, Crowley let his new addition settle in peace. He didn’t notice how all the other plants were first flabbergasted then terribly jealous of its special treatment.

## ***

Crowley had kept Minion (5) as a hostage, and the rats were behaving much better, giving reports with exhaustive details and forgoing any idea of ever letting the angel leave their sight.

However, their new drive had created another issue: the angel had noticed. The angel had very much noticed. The angel was currently standing in front of his door, for the second time, with a concerned look.

“Crowley, dear, you ought to talk to me,” he pleaded.

“I’m always talking to you, angel,” replied Crowley, trying to be smooth.

An aggravated look was levelled at him and the demon clamped his mouth shut.

“The rats told me you requested them to monitor me.”

“...Thossssse rodentssssss are lying.”

Many indignant squeaks erupted from all of Aziraphale’s pockets.

“When you leave my side, you linger around the bookshop, don’t think I didn’t notice,” continued the angel, undeterred. 

“Ssssimple precautionssss. I’ve alwayssss been prudent, you know that.”

“Is that so?” he said dryly.

Crowley didn’t like this tone of voice. Nor the smug look that graced Aziraphale's face. Or rather he liked it very much, because he loved everything about his angel, but not when it was directed at him.

“Is that why you keep trying to call me?” Aziraphale mockingly wondered.

“What?”

“My telephone informed me that you have tried to call me 48 times since this morning.”

Which it shouldn’t have been able to do. But it had been tired of being almost called, and Aziraphale had wanted to know. You didn’t say “no” to an angel.

“NGK!” 

The angel took a step toward Crowley, who, ironically, froze like a mouse facing a snake. Aziraphale’s self-satisfied smile grew in intensity as he brushed against Crowley and entered the apartment. For the first time since finding him at his front door, Crowley noticed he carried a huge bag. Resigned to his fate, he closed behind him and turned to watch the angel. His assurance was fast disappearing now that he was inside.

That gave Crowley the strength he needed to take the matter into his own hands and deal with the fact that Aziraphale was now in his personal space. He sauntered to the room containing his plants, the more neutral one, familiar to both of them by the verdant greenery in it.

The myosotis had a place of honour and was at ease, obviously well cared for and spoiled. An example of the treatment Aziraphale could expect in Crowley’s care, in his domain.

Aziraphale smiled softly and glanced at Crowley from behind his eyelashes, a dust of pink colouring his cheeks. He placed the luggage at his feet and fidgeted under the golden gaze that focused on it then on him.

“Well… it seems the problem lies with my absence from your side, doesn’t it? So… so I figured that I could come here and rest your mind.”

“And by that you mean?” inquired Crowley, not daring to hope.

“Well, you are welcome to my bookshop during the day, and I do not mind your presence at all, dear. I rather enjoy it, in fact. And then I could come back to yours for the evening and night?”

They were moving in together.

_They were moving in together._

Crowley had a hard time believing this was what Aziraphale wanted. But the angel had the perfect excuse: helping Crowley. But Crowley _knew_ it was what he wanted. Because Aziraphale hadn’t proposed for Crowley to come over, to stay in the bookshop. He had invited himself in! Crowley was always welcomed, that was a given, he had a place in the angel’s universe. And Aziraphale wanted and asked for one in his. Veiled by excuses.

“I thought you died in the fire,” admitted Crowley, not able to hide how strangled his voice was.

If it meant having him, then Crowley was ready to rip his heart out of his chest and offer it still beating for Aziraphale to do as he pleased. He would give him all the excuses he wanted or needed as long as he got Aziraphale in return.

He had wanted to help Aziraphale but maybe, _maybe_ he needed help too. And as usual, the angel was ready to provide, to offer a wing to protect him.

“I thought I had lost you. I can’t get it out of my head. When I close my eyes and you’re not here, I see fire and smell smoke and when I call, you don’t answer...”

Slowly Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand, caressing Crowley’s skin with his thumb before bringing it to his own cheek.

“I _am_ alive. I’m here.”

He kissed Crowley’s palm, and rested his head in the cup of his hand, his eyes watching him with heart-wrenching acceptance and kindness.

“I read somewhere that physical contact helps with anxiety, may I?” 

_Excuses_. All the excuses he needed.

“Yes.” He meant _please_.

Crowley was suddenly engulfed in his arms. His scent. The softness of his well-worn clothes. The give of his skin. The tenderness of his hold. The gentleness of Aziraphale’s fingers in his hair. Crowley hadn’t realized just how much he needed this. _Craved_ it.

He didn’t dare move, his arms loose around the angel as he fought the instinct to wrap around Aziraphale, burying himself in his neck, moulding himself against him. He didn’t want to risk asking more than Aziraphale could give. Not too fast, never too fast.

Because the best things couldn’t last forever, Aziraphale broke the embrace, clearing his throat.

“How about some coffee for you and cocoa for me, dear?”

“Sure, anything you want, angel.”

The shy smile he got told Crowley that the meaning of that deceptively innocent answer hadn’t been lost. Aziraphale was already trotting to the kitchen, his bag with him as he babbled about the cookies he had taken the liberty to bring with him.

“Do _not_ think that I have grown soft,” Crowley hissed to his plants.

They promptly began shaking. But the myosotis that didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

With a last “behave”, Crowley left the room and started thinking.

Lots of things in his flat had a link to the angel. But nowhere was fit for him. Crowley’s space was hard and cold, empty. When he needed to be comfortable, he was either in his bed or in Aziraphale’s bookshop. But now that wouldn’t do.

Like in his life, everything was compartmentalized. A long corridor was the only way to reach the different places. The plant room. The kitchen. The study. The bathroom. His bedroom and the living room. With a thought, he added to the living room a sleek, black, expensive couch, a low design table, and then a bookshelf because he had no doubt the bag that accompanied the angel contained books.

“Oh, thank you, dear. It is… very you,” acknowledged Aziraphale as he entered, holding a tray with their two cups.

He placed his tray on the newly miracled table, then went back to get his bag. And from it, Crowley watched him pull a horrible, horrid, _atrocious_ tartan blanket and promptly place it on what Aziraphale had seemed to claim as his side of the couch. Crowley hid a smile as the angel glanced coyly toward him, as if to check he would get away with it, and gave a pleased smile as Crowley only rolled his eyes with a grimace.

Crowley didn’t comment as Aziraphale started to put books in the bookshelf made for him, pulling from the bag much more that what ought to be able to fit in it. Crowley never tired of watching the angel exist. All his little mannerisms and his joy in the simple things never ceased to captivate him.

“There. I’m all settled. You can go to bed if you wish to. I’ll be reading here.”

A snap later and Crowley had added a lamp that the angel could dim as he pleased.

“Would you care for a small supper?” suggested Crowley.

He liked to watch him eat. One of their oldest rituals started by a shared meal of oysters at the bequest of the angel. The first time he had been the one looking for Crowley’s presence.

“Oh that would be lovely!”

“Sushi?”

Aziraphale pouted.

“The places delivering sushi are an insult to the art, truly dreadful. No respectable establishment does it, you have to eat there. And none are close by.”

He wanted to stay here. Not even one of his favourite foods could make him budge. Crowley was insanely pleased.

“Not to worry. They will deliver for me,” he assured. 

He fished for his cell phone and made a call to the lobby of his complex. The security would find a way to have someone bring them what he wanted. The truly rich had such privilege and Crowley was sure that one of his angel's restaurants would bend the rules for him. Aziraphale didn’t complain as Crowley ordered for him, trusting him with the choice, knowing that he would get it right, perfect even.

In the end, Crowley did not go to bed or sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s notes:**
> 
> Kudos are deeply appreciated. Comments even more, they will mean the world to me! (you can tell me what you loved etc etc I don’t bite ☺).
> 
> **Notes :**
> 
> (1) See the deleted scene with the rats
> 
> (2) Neil Gaiman wrote a ficlet on his Tumblr about that. How he gave knowledge to humans. <https://warpedchyld.tumblr.com/post/187551540134/ariaste-crowleysglasses-neil-gaiman>
> 
> (3) The Nephilim: in short some angels found the daughters of men pretty and slept with them. They gave birth to the Nephilim who were described as strong and mean people. They are part of the reason for the Flood.
> 
> (4) Neil Gaiman confirmed they did hold hands, but didn’t tell us where. The fandom seems to think it is there, so do I.
> 
> (5) Minion sounds like “Mignon” in French which means “cute”. Crowley is aware of that. Not gonna admit it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very special thank you to : Togolynn, WishIWasAPrincipality, sarahgoodomens_2911 and KiaraMGrey who took the time to review last chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to : Myfirststars, apelynnerich, Emmief5, TheTraciWho, ladyofthedragon, KiaraMGrey, sarahgoodomens_2911, Balyse93, ThermyWho, nocturnalmesmerism, WishIWasAPrincipality, Veden, togolynn, and Muffinlord as well as 8 guests who left kudos :)

At this precise moment, if you had asked Crowley what was his dream life, he might have replied that he had it. Aziraphale had kept true to his word and followed him home every evening.

“My dear, you need your rest,” he said with a tone that would allow for no argument.

Because Crowley hadn’t been sleeping. Ever since they had started this new ritual of theirs, he had stayed up all night to drink, talk, argue or just enjoy the presence of the angel.

“Angel, both of us know that isn’t true,” replied Crowley with a smirk as he leaned on the bookshelf in what he hoped was a suave way.

He did notice Aziraphale giving him a pleased once-over and nearly preened under the attention before catching himself and feigning disinterest.

“You do, you get all grouchy if you don’t.”

“I do not.”

“We’ve been arguing about duck food for an hour.”

“Because _you_ said we had been poisoning the buggers for years and asked if _I_ was responsible for it! I didn’t push the humans to want to feed the ducks bread! They did that on their own and I didn’t know it was bad for them!”

Aziraphale primly folded his hands on his lap and glared.

“What I _said_ was, and I quote, 'Crowley, dear, did you know bread is very bad for ducks? It seems the salt destroys their feathers and the wheat gives them the impression they are full when they aren’t and deprives them of the nutrients they need.' It was a rhetorical question and you know it.”

Yes, Crowley did. And, yes, he had jumped to conclusions. But he had felt bad for the ducks! How many generations had they brought to an earlier grave without knowing it? Was he responsible for the little ducklings that hadn’t hatched?

Alright. He was tired.

“Fine,” he groused.

Aziraphale beamed at him.

“So! Do you need a nice cup of camomile before bed? Oh, I do wonder what pyjamas you chose, I’m sure they will be very classy. Do you brush your teeth? I suppose not. Then do you have a ritual of sorts to prepare yourself for bed?”

No, Crowley did not. He snapped his fingers to change, crashed into the cushions, and slept like a log.

“No, angel.”

“I see.”

The angel seemed disappointed. Would he be disappointed about his pyjamas? They weren’t “classy”, but they were black, that ought to count for something, didn't it? Did Crowley need to think of a new pair? But then again, his definition of classy and Aziraphale’s definition weren’t in accordance. Or maybe he just had to be himself; after all, the angel had always accepted him as he was.

He snapped his fingers and was greeted by a delighted wiggle and the falsely timid request to touch the fabric.

“You look dashing.”

Only his angel could use this word for someone in his pyjamas. But Crowley wasn’t picky. He took the few strides that separated them and offered his arm to the angel so he could trail manicured fingers on it.

“Oh! Silk. You were always one for decadence. It suits you.”

“Will you try sleeping, too?” Crowley asked hopefully.

“As you said earlier, dear, I don't need it and I don’t care for it. I would rather read.”

This was a blatant lie. He had wanted to know about Crowley’s ritual, had been excited about it and seemed to have had a clear idea of what _he_ would have wanted. Crowley contemplated arguing but decided against it, he had a feeling Aziraphale would use the “you are grumpy” card to shut anything down. Crowley had to bide his time. He was a master at it. 

“Suit yourself. I’m off to bed.”

“Sleep well, dear.”

“I should be up around 8,” he informed, wishing to follow Aziraphale out when he went back to the bookshop.

“Sure.”

The angel was fidgeting. It would be the first time he would be left to his own devices in Crowley’s flat. Free to roam at ease if he wanted. Now that Crowley thought of it, Aziraphale had remained at all times either in the living room, the kitchen or the plant room. He hadn’t ventured anywhere else, or even expressed the wish to. And Crowley hadn’t proposed to show him around either.

Aziraphale had never commented on the eagle statue in the entrance. The one Crowley had stolen from the destroyed church where he had saved the angel from the Nazis. But Aziraphale’s gaze lingered on it every time and an emotion Crowley couldn’t describe always shone in his eyes.

“Would you… accompany me?” requested Crowley.

An invitation to discover more of his intimacy. A wish for Aziraphale to be the last thing he saw before drifting away in slumber. The angel heard and agreed with a pleased smile in which his fondness for Crowley was clearly displayed.

Crowley padded bare feet to his bedroom, the floor wasn’t cold, nothing was cold but the general impression of the place. Crowley, as a good snake, liked heat. That didn’t stop Aziraphale from miracling soft ugly tartan slippers to clad Crowley’s feet. The latter gave the angel a look and wrinkled his nose but kept walking. He would never berate Aziraphale for his kindness. Never.

“What are they doing?” murmured the angel as he saw the statue of evil triumphing on heaven.

“...Wrestling.”

Even if it looked like preliminaries before something that was _another_ type of wrestling. But Crowley wasn’t going to spell it out to him.

“Ah yes, I do recall you being fascinated by this practice. Especially when they were covered in oil.”

“Well, fighting to play seemed such a foreign concept.”

Demons and angels fought to kill. Always. To see the humans, who were adept at war, turn it into a game? That had been intriguing. That had been one of the things that had planted the idea in Crowley’s mind that he and Aziraphale could feign fighting each other.

“And I remember you being infatuated with the baths,” reminded Crowley. 

In Rome, Aziraphale could be easily found in the common bath chatting or eating. Crowley knew the angel had loved the scent, the water, almost everything about it. Crowley had indulged in it a few times but hadn’t been such a fan. The angel coloured slightly and tugged on his vest.

“It was a good way to get close to the humans. They discussed many things in those baths.”

A pang of sadness made Crowley stop at this new lie. So much. Heaven had been weighing down on the angel so much. Aziraphale pretended not to see it and started walking in the direction of the last room that had to be Crowley’s bedroom. Then waited for Crowley to push the door on its hinge.

Like all the other rooms, it was a charcoal grey, devoid of anything but the strictly necessary: a huge bed, a table, a lamp. Tons of cushions. One of them held some of Aziraphale’s feathers, from the few times he had allowed Crowley to groom him. They were mixed with Crowley's own, so as to mask the scent and keep it a secret.

“Come on, dear, don’t let me keep you,” invited Aziraphale, pulling the covers aside, “Silk again, I see,” he teased.

“Yes angel, it’s warm and soft. You should try it.”

That wasn’t truly a temptation but he received a disapproving glance for his troubles.

“I will take your word for it.”

Crowley took in his room and decided he needed to shove the angel a bit more. With a grand gesture, as he was prone to, and a snap, he cut the bed in two and added another bedside table. He even went as far as put bloody tartan on the lamp, covers and half the cushions.

“There, if you ever feel like it.”

An angry huff and a pout was his reply. Crowley imagined himself striding to Aziraphale and kissing it away. He didn’t move an inch. Then the angel looked troubled, twisted his hands, glanced from under his eyelashes in Crowley’s direction, his cheeks slightly reddened and snapped his fingers.

If Crowley had expected his room to go back to its previous state, he had been wrong. Oh so very wrong. It was back to having one bed, yes. Huge, black as he liked. Could easily fit two person, even three. And had a bedside table on each side. On the right, the one he had made for the angel, on the left his. The tartan cushions, still mixed with his own style, and a single tartan blanket were also on the right side.

“Ngk… Angel…”

“Right. Bedtime, dear!”

They weren’t talking about that. Fine. Fine. Crowley could deal with that. He was going to sleep on it, literally. Not pushing the angel. Slow pace. Even when the bloody angel was jumping miles ahead then pulling all the stops. Could one be discorporated from too many feelings? 

Aziraphale was back at patting the bed to incite Crowley to come crawl inside. Mumbling he complied, slithered in and wondered if he would melt as Aziraphale pulled the cover above him, tucked them around him and fluffed his cushions.

“May you dream of whatever you like best,” wished Aziraphale.

You. Thought Crowley. Of course, he didn’t say so. He watched as the angel pulled away, reached for him, decided against it and readied to leave.

“What, no goodnight kiss?” teased Crowley.

Aziraphale spun around and kissed his brow with the speed of lightning. As if his nerves would have won if he didn’t do it in the heat of the moment.

“ _Angel_ ,” choked Crowley.

Aziraphale lowered himself again and pressed his lips to his brow, lingering, soft, tender and loving.

“Sleep well, dearest.”

## ***

Aziraphale took to routine like a duck took to water. So a new habit was made of him following Crowley to his room and tucking him in before kissing his brow. Every single night!

Crowley knew Heaven and how twisted it was. But _this_? This was the paradise the humans talked about.

In that bliss, he thought of Her. She was never too far from his mind. He wondered if She had placed Aziraphale at his side so that, even if he had lost Her love, he would always have his. And Aziraphale’s love was all-encompassing, infinite, unconditional and he didn’t mind Crowley asking questions. And maybe, having that, always, was one of the reasons Crowley hadn’t ended up as twisted as the others in Hell.

He let that consideration pass, or, more truthfully, shoved it deep inside himself with all the other thoughts concerning Her. He wanted to go yell at his plants, except for the myosotis of course, the myosotis didn’t deserve being yelled at. The others had gotten a bit sloppy ever since the angel had decided to stay. Because Aziraphale would gush over them and pamper them.

Crowley groaned as the smell of coffee seeped into the room. It was time, his angel was making breakfast. But Crowley didn’t want to get up just yet. He needed to plot. He slept when he wanted to turn it off, that brain of his always full of questions and plots, always running a mile a minute. But right now he needed that.

Things troubled him. For one, he was the only one receiving help! That didn’t sit well with him. Aziraphale had progressed tremendously, yes, but only for Crowley, not for things that concerned him and only him. That wouldn’t do. 

He had refused any small nudge Crowley had tried. He was getting at a loss and feared Aziraphale digging his heels in and getting frustrated with him. Unbeknownst to him, the solution would soon present itself without Crowley’s meddling.

For the moment, Crowley was blissfully unaware of what was coming. He mumbled and nuzzled his cushions a bit more then in one fluid movement got out of bed, dressed in a snap, and sauntered toward the kitchen. It wouldn’t do for Aziraphale to come get him out of bed and notice he was _plotting_.

And Crowley rather liked the view of his angel cooking for them. Simple things, but delicious. He usually took one or two bites, tops, and let the angel finish his plate as Crowley watched him voraciously with unblinking attention.

As usual ( _as usual!_ ), he faced the stove, armed with a spatula and a tartan apron secured around him. And Crowley craved for the possibility to join him, wrap an arm around his hips and kiss his cheek as a morning greeting. Instead, he sauntered to him, grabbed the cup of coffee waiting for him and leaned on the counter, just far away enough to be proper.

“How did you sleep, dearest?”

“Perfectly.”

“Do you want some cheese in your eggs?”

“If you feel like it.”

Aziraphale added some to the pan. Done, they went to the living room and settled around the small table, on the plush carpet Crowley had added when he realized they would be eating breakfast here from now on. Today was bacon browned to a crisp in butter, scrambled eggs with pepper, salt and cheese, and a plate with a freshly cut banana, figs, raspberry and dried raisins.

He sipped his coffee as he watched Aziraphale eat, drinking up the expression of bliss and contentment that was on the angel's face, the small sounds of appreciation he made. Crowley ate a few spoonfuls and pushed the rest to Aziraphale.

“Oh this tastes wonderful. The vendor was right,” complimented Aziraphale as he bit into a fig.

With a disconcerting naturality, he offered the other part of it to Crowley, pressing it directly to his lips and waiting for the demon to bite before releasing it. If Crowley’s lips closed briefly around his fingers, that was never mentioned (or minded). The angel had soon discovered that feeding Crowley was the best way to actually make him eat when he considered himself done.

“Will you be coming to the bookshop with me today?”

He always asked. Offering a way out to Crowley, letting him know he was free to do anything else. But Crowley didn’t want to at the moment. He was still planning his next mischief. Something to do with a museum refusing to give back precious native art that would make him feel terribly clever and would please Aziraphale.

“Ah, Minion told me the man that wants your Diamond Sutra translation has been lurking around since yesterday evening. Good thing we closed early.”

Distaste could be seen on Aziraphale’s face as he patted his lips with his napkin.

“You are still monitoring the bookshop, dear?”

“Well, yeah, might as well make use of my rodents’ network. Seems it’s coming in handy.”

Aziraphale didn’t comment on it further. He looked uncomfortable, perplexed, as if he had eaten something sour. Crowley felt his pupils thin to nearly slits, the gold in his iris spreading. Was he bothering the angel? Did he make him think of Heaven monitoring him? Before his thoughts and panic could get the better of him, Aziraphale spoke.

“That man really needs to know when to let go.”

Not Crowley then. He patted under the table, where he kept a stash of his glasses and slipped a pair on.

“I could deal with him if you want.”

“Thank you, dear, but no.”

“...Gently, if you wish,” proposed Crowley.

That granted him a sweet smile and a pat on the hand. Aziraphale’s lips parted as if he wanted to speak, but he reconsidered and started to get up.

“We could go to the museum of native art, then try a new French restaurant that specializes in crêpes. I heard the cook is from Bretagne a place renowned for crêpes!”

“What a lovely idea!” 

As they left the apartment for the day, Crowley didn’t notice his neighbour, Miss Aigrie, spying on them from her slightly ajar door. He was too busy contemplating his angel and drinking in his words. 

It was a perfect day and Crowley went to bed that night feeling like the luckiest of demons (not that hard, but you see the point), and received his goodnight kiss like a blessing (which it was). With memories of his angel dancing behind his eyelids, he had a feeling he would dream of him tonight. He was right. But not how he had hoped.

Everything was burning. All those books so precious to his beloved were burning. And he couldn’t find him. He couldn’t sense him. His world was collapsing like one of his stars, to leave behind only darkness and emptiness.

“ _Angel_! Aziraphale!” he screamed again and again.

He reached with one hand through the fire, blinded and panicked. And something soft and cool met him.

“Crowley, dearest, I’m right here,” said a voice like a balm.

Crowley blinked his eyes open, didn’t notice the tears that sprang free at this action, and was greeted by Aziraphale’s face. Worried, tender. He had his hand in his, their fingers linked. The other one was on Crowley’s brow, pushing sticky hair out of his face.

“I’m right here, dearest, with you, safe.”

Oh God. No Sat… Someone. He wanted to wrap himself around Aziraphale, snuggle in his arms and disappear in his embrace.

“Oh dear, your eyes are all golden, no trace of white. Do you want your glasses?”

He made to leave and Crowley almost crushed his hand in his to keep him there. Aziraphale froze, sitting back on the bed and reaching for Crowley’s cheek before remembering himself and retreating. Just as he did, Crowley followed the movements and rested his face in the angel’s palm.

“You said touch is good for stressed people, right?” he reminded.

Use your excuses if you need them, angel, anything to have you touch me, lather me with your affection. I need you. I need you so much. Damn being cool, he would rather have Aziraphale in his arms.

That did it. Aziraphale kicked his shoes off and climbed on the bed, Crowley met him halfway and buried himself in Aziraphale’s arms. It was almost a painful hold, as if Aziraphale had been the one fearing Crowley would disappear. The angel made shushing noises, caressed his back and peppered kisses on his hair. He too, had been holding back, and now that he was allowed, all his pent-up emotions were rushing out, still controlled, but the dam had started to crack.

And that was Crowley’s solution. Aziraphale was ready to break any rules for Crowley. This was how Crowley was going to have the angel finally do things for himself. He just had to find a way to let him hide behind the fact he was doing it for Crowley.

## ***

In the next week, Crowley woke up screaming for Aziraphale three times. At every occurrence, the angel would hurry to his side and they would cuddle until Crowley was calm again. It was after such an event that Aziraphale had sited Crowley at their breakfast table, arms crossed on his chest and looking for all the world as if Armageddon’t was upon them again.

“It seems that my presence isn’t enough,” he stated.

Crowley opened his mouth to vehemently protest but clicked it shut at an amused look from Aziraphale.

“It worked at the beginning but now you have nightmares. It seems it was only a Band-Aid, we need to help you get over it.”

And then you will leave? The question came unbidden to Crowley’s mind. He might have a bigger problem than he had realized. What if he was feigning it to keep the angel with him? He had thought to use his influence and unwellness to get Aziraphale to do things for himself but…

“… Dear?”

Crowley fumbled with his words, incoherent sounds escaping him. He hadn’t been listening.

“Yes, I know it’s scary. But it’s for your well-being, do we agree? It would only be for a few hours at a time. Less at the beginning if you prefer?”

Oh. Oh, he had proposed they stopped being glued to each other. That sounded good. As much as Crowley loved his company, he still needed his own space. And so did the angel. It was healthy. It made their reunion even more precious. But…

“Just to get you used to it. See how long it takes for your worries to appear… how long you can take it.”

“As soon as you leave my sight,” replied Crowley without thinking.

Then he tried valiantly to hide his growing blush.

“Oh… dearest,” cooed Aziraphale.

He placed his hand on Crowley’s, warm and kind. The angel had gotten far more freer in his affections ever since their first hug. When they were alone together, Crowley didn’t try so hard to be cool and detached anymore. He could afford that now, Hell wasn’t going to spring on him anymore.

“I will need something to keep in touch with you,” requested Crowley.

“The rats? I do love Minion.”

“Something a bit more immediate.”

“Are you trying to make me buy a cell phone again?” accused Aziraphale.

Crowley couldn’t help but smirk. Then he pleaded silently with his eyes, as Aziraphale usually did to him, and was delighted to realize it worked.

“You are insufferable. Fine, fine. But you choose it.”

“Of course.”

“I will be going then, dear. You can pass by anytime.”

Aziraphale let him help him with his coat and as he reached for the door they both fidgeted. Something seemed off, missing. And then Aziraphale turned to Crowley and kissed his cheek. That righted the world.

“Mind how you go.”

And he was gone. Crowley was giddy, the sensation almost like flying. Then he was at a loose end, not knowing what to do with himself after so long always with his angel. So he went to his plants, checked they were back on track. Threatened and inspected. Gave a loving caress to the myosotis, added a bit of fertilizer to his pot to help maintain him in his perfect state.

Then he wandered in his empty flat and that is when he noticed. How tidy it was. The kitchen was spotless, not even the remains of their breakfast could be seen. Everything had been cleaned, dried, and put back in its rightful place.

He went to the living room, spotless, the tartan blanket folded and tucked away. Books in their shelves, even the one Aziraphale was currently reading. A snake bookmark poked out of it, marking where the angel had been, and made Crowley smile. But it wasn’t long lived. His precious angel was not a tidy man, he loved clutter, a nest, a hiding place. He knew where everything was, but no one else did. But here, he had made a point to erase his presence, to not disturb Crowley’s flat.

It pleased Crowley insanely but saddened him at the same time. He would have to let Aziraphale know that the living room was his, totally, that he could clutter it if he wanted to. He was welcome to invade as he saw fit this part of Crowley.

He pulled out Aziraphale’s book and settled it on the table. Then he unfolded the blanket and placed it just like his angel liked. _There_. _Better_. It made Crowley feel like Aziraphale had just left and would be back at any second. He liked that feeling.

Now he had to find a phone. As much as he wanted one of the most recent ones, that wouldn’t do. He had to find something that would match his angel. That he could use easily. With a snicker, he thought of the ones with the big keys made for the elderly.

… Actually, that was a rather good idea. And after all, the phone just had to be basic: call, SMS and maybe pictures. Aziraphale might love taking pictures.

That was settled. He needed to find the best one and a nice shop to get it. Driving the Bentley would do him good, and he would be able to go as fast as he wanted. Whatever the angel said, he did drive slightly less fast when he was with him. _Slightly_.

He pulled his phone from his side pocket and started browsing the internet. As he did so, he collapsed in his throne and snapped his fingers so music blared. _Oh_. He had missed that. He hadn’t realized how he had shuttered some of his habits around Aziraphale. They would have to work around that.

Crowley had no claim in listening to his music in the Bentley, even if he knew Aziraphale didn’t particularly enjoy it. But the Bentley was his place. So was the flat, but… he had wanted Aziraphale to feel at ease, welcomed… make it his.

He would have to select some music the angel might enjoy discovering. That would be his second mission for the day and the upcoming ones.

Crowley had found the perfect place to go, it had terrible reviews and he would have a blast putting that vendor back in their place. He growled at his plants as he went, found Minion hiding in a pot, stuffed him in his pocket as he had elected to have him come with him (to keep getting news about his angel) and left, locking the door behind him.

He sauntered with a spring in his step to the elevator, and as the doors were closing, a small, wrinkled hand darted between them, making them obediently open again. _Miss Aigrie_. She very slowly entered the elevator, playing her age for all it was worth. He knew she was far more nimble than she let on, and he knew she knew he knew. The thing was that Miss Aigrie was the sort of neighbour that drove people up the walls. Always complaining about noise, poking her nose everywhere especially where you didn’t want her. If you asked her, Crowley made lots of noise (his flat was soundproofed by a miracle), was rude (he sometimes carried her groceries), the definition of egotistical (he looked after her cat when she visited her family), and was the worst neighbour ever… which suited him perfectly.

All in all she was a real nightmare.

Crowley adored her.

She looked straight into his shielded eyes and pushed every single floor button.

They were at the top of the building.

At the 37th floor.

She knew he liked going fast, always in a rush. He grinned at her.

“Oh, Margaret, what could I have possibly done to warrant such a revenge?” he asked.

“Existing,” she deadpanned with a teasing glint in her eyes.

He could take whatever she threw at him and she enjoyed that tremendously. It was pure unbidden banter.

“Ah. Well, can’t help it, I’m afraid.”

She tutted disapprovingly.

“You lack imagination, lad. We’re at the 37th floor, lots of possibilities.”

“The 30th now,” corrected Crowley.

A menacing glare was directed his way and he snickered.

“Who is that nice gentleman who has started visiting you?”

 _Ah_. So that was the reason she had trapped them both in the elevator. He should have seen it coming. 

“A bookshop owner,” he replied, knowing he wasn’t answering her.

“A very well-mannered one. Doesn’t suit you at all.”

“What can I say, opposites attract.”

“I saw you being all giddy and _nice_ to him.”

She had spitted that four letter word with such disdain Crowley could only be impressed. Sounded almost like him.

“It was disgusting,” she added, turning her mouth down.

Cold dread made Crowley freeze. He tended to forget how bigoted people could be. He would hate to discover she was such a person. And he would have to act upon it. Because that and harming children was a major pet peeve of his. And he couldn’t allow her to breathe in the same space as Aziraphale if she was. LGBTQ+ people were the angel’s self-appointed charges. She seemed to notice his tension and softened immediately, dropping their game.

“It would have been disgusting if he had been a woman, too. It’s the lovey-dovey part that is repugnant. But well, maybe he will manage to get a little bit of sense in that pretty head of yours.”

Crowley let his body relax in his relief. He hadn’t believed she was a closed minded individual.

“Pretty? You are growing soft in your old age. I’m shocked.”

“Oh, yes yes, pretty. You’re a man-shrimp.”

“A what?”

“A man-shrimp, lad. Everything is good in it but the head.”

That ripped a bark of laughter from Crowley. The elevator dinged, they had reached their destination. Miss Margaret Aigrie didn’t move. She hadn’t planned to go out. Crowley saluted her as he left.

“You have to invite me soon to meet him, Anthony! Or I will invite myself!” she warned.

As the door closed she glimpsed a muzzle and cute little ears poking out from Crowley’s jacket.

“Is that a rat!?” she exclaimed, “Anthony! You _devil_!”

He laughed as the elevator went back up, carrying in its wake the protestations of his neighbour.

## ***

That hadn’t been part of the plan. Truly. But how could he resist such a gadget? It was high tech. It was unnecessary. It was perfect for what he needed. It was hopelessly romantic.

He watched the box on his desk as one watched his hereditary enemy. With wonder, love and a bit of fear. It contained a Bond Bracelet. It has WIFI and worked even at the other side of the planet. Couples wore one each and when you touched it, it sent a sensation of heat to the other one. A way to say I miss you, I think of you. A touch for those who couldn’t touch (1).

The trouble was: how could he offer it to the angel with a debonair manner? Was it too much? He needed a second opinion, but the one usually providing him one was the angel. He needed a distraction that would help him take his mind off things and then he would be able to make a decision. He pulled his phone out and dialled.

“Nanny?” came the eleven-year old’s voice.

“Hello, Hellspawn,” Crowley told the not Antichrist, but still the boy he had raised, “How are you doing?”

“I want you and Brother Francis back.”

“You are too old now, sweetheart.”

“How am I too old for a gardener?” argued Warlock, making Crowley proud.

“You know what I mean.”

“But you could be security again, I don’t mind you being a guy now and Brother Francis can do his magic tricks all he wants.”

 _The clever little bugger_. He had known from the start who the two strangers (not) were at his party. So he had deliberately thrown cake at Aziraphale’s face. Crowley truly had raised him well.

“Do not let him catch you say that,” he warned.

Aziraphale did not need more incentive to do his bloody magic tricks, thank you.

“Only if I can come over on the next holidays.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Depends, is it working?”

Crowley was so proud.

“Tell you what. Manage to convince your parents and it’s yes.”

“Okay. The war is on. They will beg me to go to you.”

“That’s my child,” gushed Crowley. 

There was a bit of silence.

“Nanny?”

“Yes?”

“What’s troubling you?”

Was he desperate enough to ask an eleven-year old for advice? He looked at the box nagging and taunting him from the desk.

Yes. Yes he was.

“… Is it Brother Francis?”

They might have raised him a little too well.

“Nanny, you should tell him you love him. I’m sure he loves you too.”

“What gave you that idea!?” sputtered Crowley.

“Nanny, I’m a kid, not blind, and even your shades can’t hide how you look at him. The rest of the help have bets on when you’re gonna stop being silly. I’m the more optimistic one.”

 _Well_. No need to pretend anymore. He explained the situation, not going into details other than “Brother Francis had a bit of an accident” as to the reason why he had bought a cell phone and the Bond Bracelet.

“You have to give my number to Brother Francis. And it can’t be healthy to be this worried about him, you gotta work on that. But really, Nanny, just give him the bracelet. No need to explain yourself, he’ll understand just fine.”

Truth comes from the mouths of children, huh? Very well. He bid Warlock goodbye, made him promise to be a little Hellspawn when it mattered and told him they both missed him.

Crowley drove with even more gusto than usual, and scared a few pedestrians, traumatized all the nearby drivers, and parked in the forbidden place in front of the bookshop. The one for delivery, not the one for handicapped people, he had values (and made a point to call the car pound when he spotted someone who had no business being parked there, or when he needed to blow off some steam, he slashed all the tires).

He entered the shop with his usual flair, but Aziraphale wasn’t at the counter.

“Yes, dear girl, I know I was closed a lot recently. I do hope you didn’t get too behind on your thesis. I will stay late today so you can read all you like. No, no, dear girl, it’s no bother. No, you can’t buy or borrow it, you know that. I will leave you to it, and don’t hesitate to ask if you need more cookies and chocolate.”

So it was _this_ kind of customer. The kind Aziraphale liked. He looked around and decided he had been right. The angel was re-organizing everything. And it seemed to make sense. _How strange_. When he had first noticed and asked, Aziraphale had avoided the question with an empty reply so Crowley didn’t push.

“Oh, Crowley, dear!”

Aziraphale came to him, all smiles and happiness and kissed his cheek. He was covered in dust.

“Still tidying it up, I see,” ventured Crowley.

“Well, yes, doesn’t hurt once in a while. Need to keep the registries in order.”

So he wouldn’t tell him. Very well. Crowley was nothing if not a patient man.

“Dear Lilly will be staying a bit late today, do you mind if our evening is here?”

“Not at all, angel.”

“Tip-top, then.”

Crowley gave him the box of pastries he had collected on the way.

“Oh, you’re spoiling me.”

“I trust you have a good vintage that could go with it?”

Aziraphale gave a contented wiggle, smiling that coy smile that signalled he ought not be pleased but was very much so.

Night fell too fast for Crowley’s taste and when Lilly left, apologizing profusely for the late hour, Crowley didn’t feel ready at all. The angel closed the shop and they naturally went to the back room. And then the metaphorical carpet was pulled from under Crowley’s feet.

It had been a while since they had passed the evening in the bookshop. Still. This was… this was wrong. Aziraphale was sitting on the couch. Not in Crowley’s spot, but still on the couch. Aziraphale looked expectantly at Crowley, who stayed rooted on the spot.

“Was it really difficult to pass a few hours away?” the angel asked.

 _Why was Aziraphale on the couch? Could Crowley go on the couch too?_ He had been asked a question. Focus on the question.

“No. It went well. The rats helped.” 

He had let Minion return to his family as he arrived. Due rest for his services. He would not need him anymore, at least not about the angel. And Minion knew the way to the flat, he could come whenever. Crowley would have to remember to stop any attempt an exterminator might make. 

He tossed the box with the cell phone to the angel and started walking around, circling. He couldn’t sit since the angel was on the couch. But why was he?

“You will have to show me how it works,” requested Aziraphale.

His face was determined and Crowley hid his look of fondness. The angel was out of his depth with this kind of technology, but if he wanted to learn, he would get it really quickly. Crowley crouched in front of him and started showing him the basics.

“Yes, Aziraphale, I’m sure you don’t need to keep it plugged to the wall. You don’t need to keep the charger plugged to the phone either.”

An hour later, Aziraphale seemed to have gotten familiar with his new device. They had made a few tests. Crowley was perched on the arm of the armchair that was Aziraphale’s usual spot. Not in it, because that would have seemed wrong.

“What’s in the other bag?” asked Aziraphale.

“A new high tech gadget, you wouldn’t like it.”

The angel seemed to ponder that for a moment then he stood up and took the bag, pulling out the two bracelets. One dark and red, the other one tartan. He then pulled one of the boxes out and started reading.

“Bond bracelet. How clever and sweet. Those humans never cease to amaze me.”

“Yeah.”

“This way, if I forget the cell phone or break it or if I’m incapacitated, I will still be able to reach you. You are so ingenious, my dear.”

Now the angel was even finding excuses for Crowley. Aziraphale fumbled a bit with the dark and red one before managing to close it around his wrist.

“Ngk,” said Crowley.

He hadn’t expected Aziraphale to be so down with it! And to take the dark and red bracelet! He was supposed to wear the tartan one! Crowley had altered it just for him!

“Don’t look so surprised, dearest. If it’s meant to represent you, then obviously I would take this one. Now, be a dear and put on yours.”

When Crowley didn’t move, Aziraphale went to him and gave him his bracelet before going right back to sitting on the couch. In a daze, Crowley slipped on the gadget and activated it. Reverently, he touched it. Nothing happened.

“Did you turn it on?” Crowley asked.

“… How do I do that?”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Crowley went to Aziraphale’s side to help him. Then he touched the device again and saw Aziraphale light up before he pressed his. A little jolt then a warm sensation spread on his wrist. It felt nice.

“Do sit, Crowley,” invited Aziraphale, patting the place next to him.

He couldn’t refuse so he sat at his usual place, so close to the angel. Then promptly choked as Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand in his, rubbing it distractedly. He had become so free with his affection. Crowley was still getting used to it. Maybe because he wanted so much more. But he didn’t dare.

Suddenly feeling brave, he threw his legs on Aziraphale’s, leaning back on the couch, still preciously keeping the angel’s hand in his. Then he started recounting his day, how he had made the rude vendor re-evaluate his life. And Aziraphale listened, making all the right comments at the right place, enchanted and enthusiastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s notes:  
> To people who left Kudos and especially reviews: THANK YOU (again). You make my day and let me believe I don’t write for nothing.   
> Kudos are deeply appreciated. Comments even more, they will mean the world to me! (you can tell me what you loved etc etc)
> 
> Notes:   
> (1) The bond touch bracelet. I imagine mine a bit different and less enormous/obvious.  
> https://eu.bond-touch.com/?gclid=Cj0KCQiA04XxBRD5ARIsAGFygj9pVazBshgop3nNt3bSlarBK8o2pGBHCU-UHsp8M0PeMVtjHviYjN8aApsCEALw_wcB


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to : Muffinlord, sarahgoodomens_2911, WishIWasAPrincipality, elf_on_the_shelf, Gleefullymacabre, togolynn and Jewely for commenting on chapter 2 :) 
> 
> Thanks to : Ranger, Sagh4, Iamjustherek, Ronica_Zaprin, Jewely, Gleefullymacabre, elf_on_the_shelf, goblinsss, chailduss, DarkAngel2891, crumblingredsky, Shes_beauty_and_shes_Grace, Abaddon_hope, Myfirststars, apelynnerich, Emmief5, TheTraciWho, ladyofthedragon, KiaraMGrey, sarahgoodomens_2911, Balyse93, ThermyWho, nocturnalmesmerism, WishIWasAPrincipality, Veden, togolynn, and Muffinlord and the guests who left kudos <3

The cell phone was a success. Aziraphale rarely forgot to take it and seemed to enjoy the SMS part of it tremendously. He would take pictures and send them to Crowley without rhyme or reason. A duck. A flower. A pretty wormhole. A cloud. And so on. He would contact him to know if he wanted croissants or pain au chocolat.

As for the bracelet, it kept Crowley grounded. He pressed it softly and immediately received warmth in return. However, there had been one memorable occasion that had Crowley in a panic. He had felt the bracelet warm up, stop, warm up again, and so on. He quickly caught on that Aziraphale was communicating in Morse code! He had been halfway out of the flat before understanding the message. 

It had started with “p”, then “a”, then “i”, then “n”, and Crowley had completely panicked. _Pain_! His angel! Who had? What had?

Then, he screeched to a stop as he received “o” “r”, a pause, “b” “r” “I” “o” “c” “h” “e”. Or brioche? What the? “I” pause “f” “o” “r” “g” “o” “t” pause “t” “h” “e” pause “p“ “h“ “o“ “n“ “e“. Not _pain_ but “pain”, the French word for “bread”.

All in all, everything was alright. At least, during the day. The night was another business completely. Crowley still had nightmares, even if he kept the bracelet on. Which Aziraphale didn’t know. Or did he? Because regularly, before Crowley drifted to sleep, he felt the angel press it for a few moments, a lingering touch of comfort.

“Aziraphale!”

Once again, he was waking up screaming. He could hear the angel rush from the living room. Aziraphale didn’t wear shoes inside anymore, having decided to remain in socks, which allowed him to climb on the bed and take Crowley in his arms without a moment’s pause.

“Here, dearest, right here, always.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Well, I doubt that will chase the nightmares away, but if it makes you feel better.”

“What time?”

“Three o’clock.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes, you said that four times already.”

Crowley didn’t want to get up. He was tired. He was frustrated. His plans to get Aziraphale to relax weren’t working. He let Crowley put on music, even commented sometimes on a piece he liked, but if he was the one choosing, it was always his usual ones. He didn’t sing, he didn’t dance. Even when Crowley was doing it.

“You should stay so I can feel you close by,” joked Crowley as he threw himself backward, only his arm and a leg still touching the angel’s side.

He felt a manicured hand pat his arm, then the angel tucked him back in, kissed his brow and left. Crowley didn’t close his eyes. He could see the fire lurking behind his eyelids and wasn’t keen in meeting it again so soon.

He blinked when he heard the angel coming back, and lifted an eyebrow as he saw Aziraphale was bringing a book. Crowley followed him silently with his eyes as Aziraphale turned on the lamp on his side of the bed, even though he never used it, puffed the cushions, and sat a few inches from him. Then he opened his book and seemed to go back to his reading.

“Angel?”

“Oh, right, sorry, dear.”

He dimmed the light and with a snap, procured a sleep mask with stars drawn on it.

“You’re going to stay?” asked Crowley, hating how his voice broke.

“You requested it. And reading here or in the living room is the same to me. Now hush.”

There were no more nightmares that night. In the morning, Crowley nuzzled into that soft, soft cushion that smelled so strongly of Aziraphale and wondered what he had done to his sheet that they were so twisted under him. Then he noticed a hand in his hair, scratching, stroking and petting. Then he realized that his leg wasn’t draped above his sheet, but above another leg and thigh. And that his face was, in fact plastered to Aziraphale’s hips, his arms around the angel’s middle.

“Ngnn?” he said very coherently.

“It’s almost noon, dearest. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up, you were sleeping so peacefully,” the angel informed him before adding, laughter in his voice, “and truth be told, I don’t think I could have escaped your grasp if I had wanted to.”

“Good thing you didn’t want to, then.”

“Yes, good thing I didn’t want to.”

His hand was still petting Crowley, and with a thought, the demon made his hair long again, as it had been during the time he was a nanny. He received a hum of appreciation and Aziraphale started coiling strands around his fingers. Who knew paradise could get better?

Crowley imagined pushing himself up and kissing Aziraphale silly, instead he buried his face in the soft flesh still protected by the cotton of his clothes. Anything the angel was willing to give him was enough. He didn’t need more.

This was the start of a new ritual. For the next three nights, Aziraphale joined Crowley. Back propped up by cushions, still impeccably dressed and accompanied by the book, or books, of his choice. The fourth night, Crowley couldn’t take it anymore.

“No. Angel, just no.”

“Pray tell, dear?”

“You just can’t go to bed dressed like that!” protested Crowley gesturing wildly to Aziraphale’s clothes. 

It was true that it frustrated Crowley to no end… But it was also a carefully planned scheme to slowly but surely get Aziraphale in pyjamas, then in the bed, then sleeping.

“Why? I’m not sleeping,” argued Aziraphale.

“Just no. That is just too wrong.”

“Is that so? How do you want me, then?” Aziraphale asked, his tone clipped.

Crowley gulped. _Oh, Go-Sat-Someone. That sentence. However you would allow_ , he thought, but kept to himself. Aziraphale had started tapping his foot.

“In pyjamas.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I ever bought such a thing, dear. And you know how I feel about miracled clothes. It’s just not the same. We might have to go shopping for some.”

Which meant they would never find something that would suit the angel. The stubborn bastard.

“I am not sleeping until you get some,” warned Crowley.

Aziraphale pursed his lips in contrariety and Crowley resisted the urge to kiss the expression away.

“You’re going to get grumpy,” he accused.

“Then find a pyjamas.”

“Fine. I will miracle it. It will be scratchy and I _will_ complain about it.”

The urge to laugh was hard to resist. How he loved that side of his angel. The angel gave him a coy look, and timid smile, trying to make him reconsider. Crowley stood his ground. Aziraphale pouted, still glancing in his direction, then gave a long sigh, and just as he was about to snap his finger, he suddenly brightened.

“Oh! I know! One of my customers, knowing I’m an acquaintance of that man who does theatre, brought me a luggage of old clothes he found in his grandmother’s basement! It was full of garments from the 18th century, very modern. I do believe there was a nightgown in it!”

Crowley kept to himself what he thought of the idea of pyjamas from the 18th century being modern. He watched as Aziraphale teleported the luggage and started rummaging in it. He pulled a splendid dress and looked at Crowley, held it in front of the demon and nodded.

“That would look lovely on you,” he commented.

“Pyjamas, angel,” Crowley gently reminded.

If he committed the dress to memory to be able to miracle it later, Aziraphale didn’t have to know about it. The angel was back to digging in the clothes. Crowley bent down to pick one up, it was men pyjamas for sure. As he was about to point it out to Aziraphale he saw him caressing a white cloth, feeling it between his fingers and seeming pleased with how it felt.

“That’s a woman’s one,” mentioned Crowley.

“Well, yes, dear. You are not the only one allowed to wear women’s clothes. The ones for men are so bland. Look how pretty this one is.”

Aziraphale held the long white nightgown for Crowley’s inspection. It was ample plain beige cotton with long sleeves, and would cover the angel from neck to toes easily. However, what had Aziraphale so enthusiastic was the frills at the wrists, the neck, and down the front.

“Oh, look, there’s a nightcap to go with it!”

“Don’t you dare.”

With a twinkle in his eyes, Aziraphale deliberately put it on. Crowley lunged at him to wrestle the wretched thing off. They ended up scrambling on the floor, laughing. In the end, Crowley managed to snatch the offending garment, burning it for good measure, because Aziraphale was too busy crying in amusement as he had almost succeeded in putting it on Crowley’s head.

Aziraphale was still catching his breath on the floor, mirth clear on his face, Crowley straddling him. He looked beautiful like this; carefree, happy. Crowley imagined leaning down and pressing his lips to those smiling ones. He would taste like the chocolate he had drank before bed. His sweet, kind and soft angel.

“Mmmnn.”

Yes, that would be exactly the kind of charming sound he would make.

… _Wait_.

Crowley realized this hadn’t been only his fantasy. He had acted upon it. _Oh, for fuck’s sake!_ ( _Oh, that was a good one, he would have to keep it_ ) _._ He had just kissed Aziraphale! He stood frozen on the spot, still sitting on Aziraphale, he knew his eyes had become totally golden. His fight or flight instincts had decided on “freeze”. He watched in slow motion as Aziraphale lifted a hand toward him. He expected anything from being slapped, pushed or clawed but not the tender press of fingers to his cheek, Aziraphale’s thumb rubbing in comfort.

“May I get another one?”

“Ngk.”

Who was he to not oblige his angel’s request? He bent down again and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s, savouring the give of his flesh. He moaned as Aziraphale slid his hand in his locks. And nearly lost it when he felt those soft lips part slightly and the tip of a tongue graze his closed ones as Crowley pulled away. Crowley kissed him again, then the corner of his lips, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his brows, his forehead, his eyelids.

“Angel, angel.”

“I did wonder if you would ever get to it,” deadpanned Aziraphale.

_That bastard._

“I’ve been waiting for you for thousands of years!” protested Crowley. 

“Well, yes. But the situation changed.”

“Still!”

“I did think myself very bold, making that single bed.”

Crowley kissed him again to shut him up. _Bastard. Bloody lovely bastard_. He stood up, offering a hand to help Aziraphale. He slithered into bed and waited as Aziraphale went to the bathroom to change into his nightdress.

He came back looking delighted in his new (old) clothes, and padded to the bed, climbed on it, and settled next to Crowley, in his usual spot. Crowley would have wanted him under the covers, but one thing at a time. He would bide his time. If he hurried the angel, he would never get to have him sleep. Tonight had already been full of (unexpected) progress.

His goodnight kiss was first on the brow as per habit, then on the lips.

## ***

The nightmares had almost disappeared. They were few and far between. Hence why the angel didn’t pass all the night at his side anymore. He usually went back to the living room at some point. Sometimes he came back to bed in time to have Crowley wake up nuzzled against him, sometimes Crowley woke up alone, the smell of his angel still lingering.

It was such a morning. Still in pyjamas, he went to investigate. He could hear the sound of music, not the usual classical one, a more recent one (at least to Aziraphale’s standards). It was coming from the kitchen. As he got closer, he recognized the singer. Nina Simone. He knew Aziraphale would appreciate her art.

His eyebrows rose as he noticed another voice, almost a whisper, joining in to sing the lyrics.

“Oh, freedom is mine… And I know how I feel… It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me yeah... ooooh and I’m feeling good…”

Aziraphale was singing along. And those lyrics… It was a song about getting away from slavery, of gaining freedom, of being lost with it, but so happy. It was so fitting. Crowley had never heard Aziraphale sing.

He poked his head in the kitchen and melted as he caught the angel singing and rocking oh, so slightly to the music as he cooked pain perdu (eggy bread). Also fitting, “perdu” meaning “lost” in French. He leaned on the threshold, content in simply watching Aziraphale live.

Then the angel turned and caught Crowley’s gaze. The peaceful, precious scene shattered. The music screeched to a halt as Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he brought his hands to his lips, as if to catch the notes that had already flown from his mouth. He had dropped the pan and the pain perdu was splattered on the ground. His eyes were dilated and full of terrible heart-wrenching fear. Terror, even.

“I… I…” stammered Aziraphale.

“Angel…”

Aziraphale flinched and Crowley cursed his choice of words. The angel was twisting his hands, his knuckles white from the force of it. He was avoiding Crowley’s gaze, looking for all the world like a guilty person panicking and searching for a way out.

“I… it… it was nothing… I just… I know you can only sing for God.”

Crowley made sure the flash of utter rage that gripped him was well hidden, that only his adoration for his angel could be seen. He took a step toward him and Aziraphale bolted out of the room. Crowley silently screamed, looked above and cursed them all. If he could go back he would roast Gabriel in hell fire for what he had done to Aziraphale.

At least Hell was upfront. _Heaven_ , his brain spat the word like one spat phlegm, coated its nastiness in false righteousness and love. They twisted what they touched and pretended it was for the greater good. They had ripped the simple joy of singing, of dancing, had turned it into something forbidden, abject, and made Aziraphale fear the consequences of enjoying it.

But not to worry. Crowley would take care of Aziraphale. He wouldn’t let anything, anyone, touch him. He would help him get free of what restrained him. Because Crowley, a demon, knew the real meaning of the word “love”.

He took a slow breath, let it out, took one again, and then followed Aziraphale. He wasn’t in the living room where Crowley had expected to find him. No, he had taken refuge in the plant room. He seemed back to himself, or rather back behind all the carefully constructed walls and protections he had created to survive Heaven.

“I like it here. It reminds me of the Garden.”

“Aziraphale.”

The angel turned to him with a sad smile that begged him not to press.

“Let’s have breakfast, shall we?”

Crowley let him go, trailing behind him. They went back to the kitchen.

“Oh, dear. I made a mess.”

He bent to pick the pieces and Crowley snapped his fingers to vanish it all. Aziraphale didn’t say anything but he looked lost, as if stripped of his purpose.

“Let’s go to that little café at the end of the street.”

“Yes. Yes, lovely.” 

## ***

As every Tuesday, they were in the park, armed with peas for the ducks. They had looked it up, or rather, Crowley had, and found out peas were one of the go-to foods to healthily feed ducks. 

They were standing as one, shoulders pressed against each other, Crowley’s arm wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist and the angel’s head resting on Crowley’s shoulder. A small miracle made them inconspicuous to people who would create problems and very much visible to people who needed a little hope. Crowley had protested, because that’s what he did, and Aziraphale had argued and won. It always did wonders for young gays to see old folks being in a committed happy relationship, and Crowley was all for breaking the mould and bothering bigots. Those tended to be real agents of evil when provoked. How could Crowley argue with that?

“I have to open the shop,” mentioned Aziraphale as they had no more peas.

“No, you don’t,” replied Crowley, his tone gentle.

Aziraphale huffed and Crowley kissed his pouting lips before taking his hands and stirring them in the direction of the bookshop. He rather fancied a bit of a rest before his secret dance lessons.

“Are you going to repair a book or read one?” he wondered.

“Do you wish to nap?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I will read.”

Crowley kissed him. It was marvellous to be able to do so whenever he felt like it. They chattered all the way to the bookshop and found Lilly on the doorstep. She smiled at their linked hands, but didn’t comment. She received her usual cup of tea and cookies and settled at her spot with the book she was studying. It was not too far from the entrance, so she kept an eye on customers and went to fetch Aziraphale when needed.

They went to the back, and Aziraphale settled on the couch, followed by Crowley, who rested his head on Aziraphale’s lap, burying his nose in the angel’s belly, right at the junction between hip and waist. This way his angel could rest his book on his shoulder and read in peace and, an added bonus, it gave access to his head and nape. Aziraphale’s hand was immediately in his hair and Crowley gave a sigh of contentment. In seconds, he had drifted to sleep.

“You could do so much better in life, dear,” Aziraphale was saying.

Crowley cracked an eye open. The angel had Crowley’s phone pressed to his ear.

“No, really, you should reconsider your choices in life. No, my choices don’t involve investing in life insurance.”

_Ah._ A telemarketer then. 

“No, dear, trust me, you don’t want Mr. Crowley to come to the phone.”

Indeed, they didn’t want that. Because Crowley, when he had time, enjoyed making them believe they had gotten him and that he would take the whole package and more, and just before wrapping it up, he would hang up. When he lacked time, he replied to a few questions, then left the phone on, said he couldn’t hear them well and needed them to re-explain everything when they got worried and after a while simply forgot about it.

“I strongly advise you to rethink your career. An opportunity will present itself, I urge you to take it. Goodbye, dear.”

“You are ruthless,” complimented Crowley.

The hand that had been trailing distractedly in his hair stopped.

“Oh, they woke you.”

“Are you going to smite them for it?”

“No, dear. Being the dashing saviour is your part.”

“You mean the terrible, scary agent of vengeance.”

“Sure, dear.”

“I might do so if you don’t get back to petting my hair.”

“So scary, dearest.”

But Aziraphale had started his ministrations again, and Crowley had turned to goo under his clever fingers. He was drifting in a state of half-sleep when he heard Lilly whisper that she requested Aziraphale’s help. “In a minute, dear,” the angel had replied before promptly losing himself back in his book. She managed to get his attention, for real, only after three attempts.

“How much time before I have to go?” piped up Crowley.

“About ten minutes, dear.”

Crowley groaned and buried his nose deeper in Aziraphale’s body making him laugh. After a few minutes he tore himself away from his angel, the latter buried in his book. Stretching, he fixed his hair, kissed his angel on the brow so as to not disturb him too much and left.

“Mind how you go!”

Crowley had almost reached his destination when he felt the bracelet get warm. He smiled and laid his hand on it, closing his eyes.

## ***

Crowley was playing on his phone, his head on Aziraphale’s lap, his new spot. The angel was, of course, reading with a pace that worried Crowley. Ever since he caught Aziraphale singing, Crowley had felt a tension in Aziraphale that never truly left. Worse, he had stopped listening to music at all. As if he was scared he would “relapse”.

The plan Crowley had concocted to help free him had been put on hold for the moment, he didn’t want to stress him more. Especially since he had progressed tremendously in his relationship with Crowley. He didn’t want to ask too much of him. But… maybe it was time to breach the subject again.

“Aziraphale?”

The angel marked his line with his thumb and lowered his eyes to Crowley.

“Yes, my dear boy?”

“You’ve not been listening to music lately.”

Nothing changed, but Crowley could feel discontent radiating from his angel. Could feel the way he had grown cold, as if even the softness of his thighs had hardened.

“I didn’t feel like it.”

Crowley tended to forget Aziraphale was a liar. No, he knew it, had witnessed him wrestle his way out of troubles with Gabriel or other angels. Aziraphale had even lied to God (he had admitted it while passably drunk). But Crowley refused to believe his angel would feel the need to lie to _him_. It hurt.

“Well, I do,” he said.

He jumped to his feet and went to the stereo. He pretended to consider his choices and put “Feeling Good” by Nina Simone.

A sharp inhale.

“Crowley.”

He regretted doing it the second he heard Aziraphale’s voice. It was angered, snappy. But it was the sadness hidden behind it that broke him. Crowley snapped his fingers and the sound died, then he hurried to Aziraphale, kneeling in front of him.

“Aziraphale…” This time, he had made sure not to use “angel”. “Gabriel isn’t going to pop up to check on you.”

“Drop it.” 

It was a warning and a plea. Crowley reached to him, but didn’t touch him. Aziraphale huffed and gave a small nod of consent. Crowley cupped his face in his hands, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“You could dedicate it to Her.”

“What?” he was wary, worried.

“I’ve been thinking. Angels’ songs are for Her, yeah? Well, you could sing religious hymns? Human’s ones, I mean. Tons of them. All in Her glory. All classical, yes? You would be helping Her hear what humans made in Her name.”

_Excuses_. Aziraphale needed to be able to defend his actions. Always. Crowley was good at finding loopholes, he would find them all for him.

“I… I could,” agreed Aziraphale, not sounding very sure, but with a hint of hopefulness that soothed Crowley.

“Yeah.”

In seconds, he had pushed all the disks he had purchased in this prospect into Aziraphale’s hands. All the titles dedicated to Her had been circled in red. He would break out the more upbeat Gospel and Sister act later, once Aziraphale was more at ease.

“You planned this.”

“It was nagging at me, that’s all,” mumbled Crowley.

Aziraphale caught his hand and brought it to his lips.

“It is very kind of you.”

Crowley opened his mouth to tell him to shut it, but stopped before the words got out. He didn’t have to pretend anymore, either. And this angel needed the example. If Crowley was still scared, then how could he ask more of his angel?

“For you, always.”

The wrinkles that appeared around Aziraphale’s eyes, and the shine in them, were worth all the efforts in the world.

## ***

Crowley was very pleased with himself. And that was an understatement. His plan had worked wonderfully. It had taken a while, had started slowly but then bloomed beautifully. When nothing happened when he sang, Aziraphale had lost himself in it. His angel could be heard singing some mornings, humming in the corridors, and going to town in the bookshop. That had actually brought some clients and after being very put out about it, Aziraphale had realized they weren’t here for the books and had welcomed them gladly.

To Crowley’s despair and horror, one had negotiated singing lessons in exchange for… magic ones. He had tried to scare the little shit away but had to drop it when the kid had laughed in his face and told him Aziraphale had warned him and that he knew he liked kids and wouldn’t harm a hair on his head. The angel had been insufferable, gloating and teasing mercilessly. 

“Now choose a card.”

“Over my dead body.”

A pleading glance and a pout later, Crowley had complied. Life wasn’t fair. Delivered from Hell, he was being tortured by an _angel_ for fuck’s sake! ( _yeah, he definitely liked that one; She and Satan were both fuckers after all, very suitable_ ).

Banging on the door tore Aziraphale away from his not so successful magic trick and Crowley wondered if he could get away with hiding the stuff in the never used loo. That angel would never think of finding them there. He could blame Minion. Rats were known for being clever little buggers.

“You are making too much noise! I can hear you from across the corridor!” came the reproachful voice of Miss Aigrie.

She had warned Crowley she would invite herself if he didn’t introduce her properly to Aziraphale. And here she was, using her usual “you make too much noise” excuse. Crowley’s flat was, of course, magically soundproofed. That, of course, didn’t stop her.

“Oh, I am so sorry, my dear. Crowley can be a real nuisance, he does get so _enthusiastic_ about my magic tricks.”

That angel was a bastard. 

“Well that is no reason to…”

“Yes, of course, dear. Would you like to join us? I was getting lonely with just one spectator.”

“Angel!” protested Crowley from the living room.

He had never allowed any neighbour in. He hoped Miss Aigrie would tell Aziraphale that no cajoling could make up for making so much noise, and then realized his protestations were all she would need to gladly invite herself in.

“I’m sure he would just _love_ to see you join us,” added Aziraphale in a saccharine voice full of gleeful sadism.

A freaking certified bastard.

“Mmm spotless. I must admit I was expecting a pigsty. I’m sure it’s all your doing.”

“Oh, no, I’m the mess, Crowley is the tidy one.”

They entered the living room all smiles, Miss Aigrie clinging to the arm Aziraphale, always the gentleman, had offered her. He helped her to a chair, putting the tartan cover on her lap.

“Tea and biscuits, dear?”

“Gladly.”

Aziraphale disappeared to the kitchen.

“Margaret,” saluted Crowley in a clipped tone.

“Anthony.”

She looked very pleased. Not in her usual teasing manner. She must have felt lonely and hadn’t expected to be invited in. She caught him looking and got a mean glimmer in her eyes.

“How peculiar that he calls you ‘Crowley’,” she mentioned.

“Force of habit,” he replied.

“Ah, I see, I see, a BDSM relationship.”

Crowley turned beet red and sputtered. She smirked at him, happy to have gotten the upper hand. Aziraphale came back with the tray and lifted an eyebrow at Crowley who hissed at him. They started chatting.

“I’ve heard you singing in the corridor lately,” mentioned Miss Aigrie.

If she saw how Aziraphale’s pristine posture went a little straighter, she didn’t comment on it, simply following up her statement:

“I understand now why he calls you ‘angel’, you truly have the voice of one.”

A pleased flush graced Aziraphale’s cheeks.

“Oh, how kind of you.”

“Treasure it, it doesn’t happen often,” hissed Crowley.

“Because you don’t deserve it,” replied Miss Aigrie, sipping her tea.

“Oh, he does. He is wonderfully patient with me,” assured Aziraphale, glancing at Crowley with fondness.

“Only to you, lad, only to you.”

“I am sure you give back as much as you get,” chuckled Aziraphale.

He stood up and reached for the empty plate.

Miss Aigrie had ended up staying for diner.

“Let me clear that for you,” offered Aziraphale.

As he came back with a new bottle of wine, Miss Aigrie watched him walk, observed as he bent to serve Crowley, who had elected to stay lounging on the floor, and brushed a kiss to his hair.

“Where did you serve?” she asked.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he put the bottle on the table, twisting his hands in front of him and fixing his clothes. Crowley gave a warning frown to Miss Aigrie, ready to interfere.

“What… what makes you think that?” asked Aziraphale in a strangled voice that he cleared immediately.

“Your posture for one, lad.”

Crowley reached for his angel’s hand, but was evaded. Miss Aigrie’s attention was riveted to Aziraphale, ignoring the way Crowley had started to uncoil and seemed slightly menacing toward her, urging her silently to shut up.

“The way you control things without seeming to. Your aura.”

“My… my aura?”

“Yes. You are not one to cross.”

“I am scary?” asked Azirapahle, his voice holding so much dismay, it was heart-wrenching.

The angels used to approach humans with the sentence “do not be afraid” because their mere presence was terrifying.

“Margaret,” hissed Crowley.

“No, lad. You are as a sword, sharp and dangerous, some of us can feel it. A warrior honed by battle. But it is clear you sheathed your sword and intend to keep it that way. You wrapped your blade in kindness and softness; it hasn’t lost its edge but you would never let it harm anyone.”

Both Crowley and Aziraphale blinked.

“My Ernest, my late husband, was like that, too. War did a number on him. He was always fearful of hurting others. And the discipline the army had asked of him was something hard to shake off. In the end, it was he that was harmed by that, by keeping everything bottled up. It killed him. You need to let go. You are not a soldier anymore because you chose not to be.” 

She started to rise and Aziraphale immediately offered his arm. She shook her head.

“Anthony will escort me to the door, it’s getting late.”

Crowley obliged. She patted his hand at the door.

“You take good care of him, lad. He is a kind one. And do think to relax a little, too, you are ever so paranoid.”

He had never stopped checking their surroundings, circling his angel to make sure they were safe.

“He likes that I protect him.”

“I see.”

She slowly made her way toward her own home.

“Margaret,” he called.

She turned to him, hauntingly.

“Don’t keep an old lady in the frigid air,” she reproached.

Crowley pulled a pitch black just-miracled card from his pocket and gave it to her. His phone number. She seemed to understand the meaning, that he would always answer her call.

That night, for the first time since Aziraphale had started to come to bed with him, he got under the covers and was the one snuggling up to Crowley. His book lay on Crowley’s stomach and was propped up by a cushion.

If Miss Aigrie found a very beautiful potted plant on her doorstep the next morning, she never mentioned. Next time they caught each other in the elevator, she pushed all the buttons of all the floors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To people who left Kudos and especially reviews: THANK YOU. You make my day and let me believe I don’t write for nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to : BrightEyedAthena, Cayran, elf_on_the_shelf, Gleefullymacabre, HolRose, Jewely, Ranger and Ronica_Zaprin for reviewing last chapter
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> A big hug to : BrightEyedAthena, Gleefullymacabre, HolRose, KiaraMGrey, sarahgoodomens_2911, Togolynn and WishIWasAPrincipality for commenting on each chapters 
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> A hug to : elf_on_the_shelf and Jewely for commenting on 2 chapters
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> A nuzzle to : KiaraMGrey, Muffinlord, Ranger and Ronica_Zaprin for leaving a comment 
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> And as usual thank you to those who left kudos : MKage, Cayran, Lirumi, BrightEyedAthena, Pepwhy, nmq, myladyclegane, Xaraxia, Prophetic_Fortune_Cookie, Aezara, HolRose, wandering_go, brightsongbird10, Ranger, Sagh4, Iamjustherek, Ronica_Zaprin, Jewely, Gleefullymacabre, elf_on_the_shelf, goblinsss, chailduss, DarkAngel2891, crumblingredsky, Shes_beauty_and_shes_Grace, Abaddon_hope, Myfirststars, apelynnerich, Emmief5, TheTraciWho, ladyofthedragon, KiaraMGrey, sarahgoodomens_2911, Balyse93, ThermyWho, nocturnalmesmerism, WishIWasAPrincipality, Veden, togolynn, and Muffinlord and 24 guests

“Dearest, we have an appointment in a bit, are you ready?” called Aziraphale from the corridor.

“We do?”

Crowley was in the plant room, elbow-deep in soil. He was replanting the myosotis in a larger pot. He hoped to see it expand more. He was really pleased with how it turned out. He had tried different types of soil to see if its colour would indeed change.

“Well, yes, dear. At the bookshop, or rather, the shop next to it. With Mister Dalorian. He’s worried about you and wants to meet you. He thinks you are mafia. I suppose the way you dress doesn’t help. And well… you _are_ a demon. But I assured him it was nothing like that.”

“Worried about me? Mafia?”

Crowley wiped his brow with his hand and grumbled as he got earth all over his face.

“Yes. He’s been visited by those terrible men, too. The one wanting us to sell.” (1)

“WHAT?”

Who did he have to viciously terrorize, then murder?! Who had dared!?

“Oh, do not fret, dear,” Aziraphale said, even if he was still in the corridor and couldn’t see Crowley freaking out.

“I can deal with them on my own,” added the angel.

Crowley groaned, passing a hand through his hair and putting soil everywhere.

Well, yes, of course. But Aziraphale did love to have Crowley play the hero (which Crowley might just adore a tiny little bit). However, Aziraphale usually dealt with his own problems on his own; it was only created ones Crowley was asked to rescue him from. Minus the one with the Nazis. 

“Anyway, he agreed to consider my offer, but thinks I got bought by you.”

“Your offer?”

There, the myosotis was all set. With a snap, he tidied everything and got properly dressed for the sudden appointment he hadn’t heard about.

“The one to expand the bookshop.”

Sometimes Aziraphale forgot Crowley didn’t live in his mind and wasn’t a mind reader, either. _What had Aziraphale gone and done?_ Crowley sauntered to him, already putting on his coat and received a peck on the lips.

“Expand the bookshop, angel?”

“Yes, I’ve been giving thought to your remark about me not needing to sell books anymore.”

“’Sell’ is such a strong word,” teased Crowley as he opened the door to let the angel go first.

“But I would miss the humans, the interaction, Lilly and the others,” continued Aziraphale, ignoring the banter. 

Crowley motioned for Aziraphale to get into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby.

“Yeah, not customer ones. But how is expanding going to change anything? You hope to make it even more labyrinthine and lose them in?”

“Don’t be silly. It will be useful as a place to add tables and all that is needed for a library.”

Crowley stopped joking and poking fun. Aziraphale had truly taken to heart his idea and found a way that suited him. He didn’t have to pretend to be willing to part with his books anymore, he could own them. Yet, he kept being of service for the community he loved.

They had reached the Bentley and Crowley opened the door, waiting for his angel.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea?” Aziraphale shyly asked.

He was worried. Adjusting his bowtie. He feared Crowley wouldn’t stand by him in this new project?

“It’s prefect.”

A dazzling smile was his reward. The angel climbed into the Bentley and gripped the handle, readying himself for a wild ride. Crowley took place behind the wheels and tapped a nervous finger on it. He turned to his angel.

“You know you could have discussed it with me, right?”

“Oh, dearest, of course. I just… I felt I had to deal with it myself.”

“We’re on our side. You can always count on me, rely on me.”

“I know. Thank you.”

Pleased wrinkles appeared around Aziraphale’s eyes, underlined by a small happy blush, and showed that nervous but delighted way the angel avoided facing him yet couldn’t help himself glancing at him.

Crowley loved showing devotion to Aziraphale.

They reached their destination to “I Was Born to Love You” by none other than Queen. Sometimes Crowley wished his car didn’t know him so well and was more discreet about screaming how Crowley felt to Aziraphale.

He parked in his usual forbidden spot and went to open Aziraphale’s door for him, a way to discreetely circle him. He offered him his arm, placing himself at his left, as usual.

“Do you need me to scare him?”

“No, dear, I told you, you are here to prove you are not with those awful men.”

“But if you want his shop, I will get it for you.”

That made Aziraphale smile, then realize he shouldn’t be smiling at that, and pouted. Crowley gazed adoringly at him.

“This will go tickety-boo. He will even help me for the opening hours until he feels like retiring.”

“You’ll need to make your policy clear. Maybe a section in the library with a no borrowing policy and another with the really old ones so only authorized people can access it.”

“Ah, you are always so good at planning, dear. So thoughtful.”

Crowley made a face and Aziraphale beamed at him. Crowley kissed him, then barely brushed Aziraphale’s knuckles with his lips, in a sign of devotion.

A throat cleared as the shop’s door opened to let an old man come out. Crowley stared at him, sizing up his prey, raised on his hackles and ready to strike if necessary.

“Alright, I admit he does look smitten with you,” said Dalorian, arms crossed on his chest and looking confrontational.

Had they been in America, the old man might have greeted them with a shotgun. Crowley smiled at him and turned on his charm. In minutes, Crowley had him wrapped around his little finger. They griped together about the men trying to buy everything in the street and Crowley’s venom about them was enough to convince the man that if Crowley was mafia, he was at least from a different clan. They had a deal by the end of the afternoon, and were already planning the labour they would need and how to organize things.

## ***

Even though Aziraphale was slow to change and to make up his mind, once he had made a decision, things tended to move fast. Which didn’t mean it was easy for the angel. His nerves were a wreck. They had to do things the human way so no one would be suspicious, and Aziraphale worried endlessly.

Without the shop, he seemed aimless, even if most of his books had been moved to Crowley’s flat, in the living room that had been miracled bigger for the occasion.

“You will have to help with the plants. We have to have plants in it.”

“Yes, angel.”

Aziraphale was out of his depth and had lost his marks and habits. To Crowley’s delight, he clung to him and the bond bracelet was of great use. The angel passed some of his time with the workers, reading and keeping an eye on the progress. Or rather, losing himself in his book. People knew to ask Crowley if they wanted to have Aziraphale react.

“It’s amazing how you’re the only one he always hears and never asks to wait,” Lilly had marvelled.

She was sort of helping out, too, while working on her thesis. The books she needed had been kept especially for her, as well as several others for Aziraphale’s usual crew.

“What do you mean?” asked Crowley.

Lilly looked at him with surprise.

“You never noticed? Let me show you. Aziraphale?”

No reaction.

“Aziraphale?”

Nothing.

“Aziraphale!”

“Yes, dear girl, just a minute.”

Several minutes later, Lilly had Crowley time it with his watch, and he hadn’t emerged from his reading.

“Now call him,” she requested.

“Aziraphale,” he said.

Immediately, the angel put a finger on his sentence and lifted his gaze to Crowley.

“Yes, dear?”

 _Oh_. She was right. Crowley had never… She leaned toward him and whispered.

“And you are the only one he will give his time to. Ask him for a stroll, he will drop everything. Even if he’s supposed to have a meeting with the architect in five minutes.”

“Care for a walk?” requested Crowley.

Aziraphale smiled at him, finished his sentence, put a bookmark in his book and looked for his coat. Before joining Crowley at the door, he turned to Lilly.

“Ask Dalorian to deal with the architect for me, will you? If needed, you have my phone number.”

And just like that, he was all Crowley’s. Had moved his plans to accommodate him.

“Told you so,” Lilly silently mouthed, amused.

Now that Crowley thought about it, it should have been obvious. Aziraphale had never refused him, had always offered his time to him, inviting him even after they had spent hours together. If Crowley often showed his care by acts and gifts, Aziraphale showed his by making himself available, which he didn’t for others. He also gave all his attention to Crowley, listened to him rave, plot, brag and didn’t mind his endless questions.

That evening, for the theatre, _Hamlet,_ to Crowley chagrin, the demon dressed to the top. Aziraphale liked when he did that. He went to his empty closet and opened it, and there was only a jacket: the one Aziraphale had worn when he impersonated Crowley in Hell. The one that had a discreet tartan collar. Aziraphale’s tartan, a sign of belonging to a clan, his clan.

He put it on and went to the living room where Aziraphale waited for him. He smirked as he felt the angel’s eyes travel down his form, taking it all in and enjoying the view. He leaned on the wall and turned his head as if to point to the front door, but in reality it was a ploy to let his collar show.

“Oh, Crowley,” breathed Aziraphale.

 _Yes_. That tone. Crowley liked it. It was the same one that he had been greeted with at the Bastille. As well as that little flush of restrained desire.

“Shall we?” he invited, offering his arm.

“Of course, dearest.”

## ***

Watching Aziraphale eat was a treat that never tired Crowley. The way he wiggled in anticipation, closed his eyes at the first taste, hummed his appreciation. He savoured each bite. Crowley observed, feeding not off food, but on Aziraphale’s pleasure.

Ever since they had moved in together, they went out just as much as they stayed inside. Crowley kept their food at the optimal temperatures. The demon preferred it here, in the safeness of their home, free from prying eyes. Able to be as affectionate as they wanted and Crowley not hiding behind sunglasses.

But he also liked to see Aziraphale interact with the people that knew him. He knew it was important for him to feel valued. And to be kind. The people working in the places they went to loved Aziraphale, and if it was a new place, it was fascinating to see how the angel enchanted them.

And now that Lilly had pointed it out, Crowley loved to witness how different Aziraphale was with him. He had never had the occasion. When Aziraphale interacted with others, but at restaurants, Crowley was usually leaving, because they couldn’t afford the risk. At Warlock’s place, it was different, too, they had been playing roles and Aziraphale treasured Warlock. So, Crowley basked in this new facet of his angel, in watching him navigating humanity. To think after 6000 years, he still hadn’t discovered all there was to learn about the angel…

Today was an inside day. They dined side by side, but still facing each other, a delicate balance. Aziraphale dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, glancing at Crowley with a delighted glint in his eyes.

“It was scrumptious, dear.”

Crowley gave a slow smile, a “predator having had his fill and lazing around” kind. He pushed toward him the small plate of dates filled with almond paste. The fruits’ skin was broken as they were bursting with sugar. The angel reached for one, hesitating as to which to choose first. A shimmer at his cuff briefly caught Crowley’s attention before he was captivated again by Aziraphale.

Crowley admired the way Aziraphale hummed at the date, then brought it to his lips, closed them around it in a tentative bite, and how he chewed slowly, letting the flavour seep into him.

“Oh. They taste wonderful, you have to try them, Crowley!” he exclaimed.

With a disconcerting naturalness, he shifted toward Crowley and pressed his fruit to Crowley’s lips. If Crowley’s tongue lapped as Aziraphale’s fingers, none but Her could have said if it was deliberate (it was).

As Aziraphale retreated his hand, Crowley caught it. Here was this glimmer again. But smaller. Crowley was used to a much more prominent one. He heard the sharp intake of breath, felt the barely restrained squirm of anticipation. Meant for him, then. Crowley slowly turned Aziraphale’s wrist so that he could see the cufflink. The usual ones were small round and tartan or a pair of wings, Aziraphale tended to favour those little nods to his nature.

Crowley stilled, his fingers gripping just a tad more tightly. On the white of the cloth, nestled in the soft fabric that smelled of Aziraphale and his perfume. On those beloved wrists, were new cufflinks. Snake ones. Silver, forming a figure eight, or rather, the sign of eternity. The belly of the snake, almost unnoticeable as it was against the fabric, showed a hint of red and its eyes were golden.

“It’s me,” he said, slightly breathless.

“I hope you like them. I had them commissioned.” 

Crowley thumbed at the jewellery piece, and for a moment, wished he was wearing his glasses. Not long ago he had worn Aziraphale’s tartan willingly, knowing what it meant, but Aziraphale had been thinking of that long before him. Long enough to have such a detailed jewel made.

“I thought… well we’re on our side now, right? I’m still… I’m still an angel, but my allegiance isn’t with Heaven anymore…”

Aziraphale hadn’t taken back his hand, but he was fidgeting, avoiding Crowley’s gaze and stumbling on his words. Crowley was transfixed by the small snake, unable to tear his unblinking eyes from it.

Aziraphale continued:

“My… my allegiance… well… it’s with you. So I decided to… hum… wear a sign of that, of you, of being… being yours. I do hope you don’t mind, dearest.”

Aziraphale lifted his face, finally looking at Crowley. Crowley thumbed the little snake. _If Crowley minded?_ Aziraphale was a very clever and courageous angel, but could be so dense and stupid sometimes. He could see the apprehension in the angel’s eyes, the uncertainty. Crowley pulled on Aziraphale’s arm as he surged forward, pressing his lips to the angel’s.

Taken by surprise, Aziraphale fell backwards on the carpet. Crowley, still kissing him, followed suit. Aziraphale let himself fall flush on his back so that Crowley wouldn’t risk being hurt, protecting him as he always did, simply, in silence, without thinking.

Aziraphale was laughing, and Crowley, who hadn’t stopped kissing him, found himself with a mouthful of his angel. A gasp of surprise and Crowley was deepening the kiss, mapping that delicious mouth that tasted of sugar. Crowley felt hands burry in his hair, Aziraphale answering his kisses, meeting each of them and letting him take the lead.

Crowley growled, drunk on Aziraphale’s taste, on his hums of appreciation. Without thinking, he gripped his thighs, hoisting him up and coercing his legs open so he was between them, rocking his hips with wanton abandon. Aziraphale gave a strangled gasp of surprise mixed with pleasure, his hands falling from Crowley’s hair.

Crowley froze upon realizing what he was doing. He forced his hips to stop and buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, his arms wrapped tightly around Aziraphale’s form, one hand cradling his nape.

“Shit, shit, fuck, forgive me, angel. I know I’m going too fast, forgive me… just… just let me stay like this, hold you, please,” he apologized and requested and pleaded.

“N…no, d…” came the stifled reply.

Crowley’s heart shattered and he hurried to pull away, to free his angel.

“Don’t stop…”

A broken gasp. Legs wrapping around him to stop his retreat. A whine, that move had pressed them together, the friction delicious. Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s flushed face in his hand, he had his eyes half lidded and wasn’t looking at him. Tentatively he rocked his hips and his angel’s mouth opened breathlessly.

Crowley reached behind him with his free hand, hoisting one of Aziraphale’s legs up so it wrapped around his waist, flushing them even closer together as he rolled his hips in slow, languid motions. 

“Ahhnn! Don’t stop…” whimpered his angel.

Crowley claimed Aziraphale’s lips again, swallowing his moans, devouring him like a starving man. Then he decided he wanted to hear the startled, filled with wonder sounds his angel was making. With clever fingers, he tugged free the bowtie, opening the shirt to kiss his angel’s neck, biting gently.

“ _Oh_!”

Aziraphale shivered and unconsciously offered more of his neck. Crowley chuckled, peppering kisses and bites. He slid his hands under Aziraphale’s shirt, scratching his sides lightly before burying them in his pants, grabbing his ass cheeks and hastening the pace of their hips.

“Ahhh, Ahhhn! Yes… oh, yes!” 

Aziraphale had arched in his embrace and clung to Crowley’s shoulders, his fingers twisted in his shirt.

“Yes, that’s it angel, hold on to me,” encouraged Crowley.

He braced himself on one elbow, groaning as he wrestled with his self-control; his angel had turned his face toward him, hiding it in his palm, letting him feel each panting breath, each broken moan and gasp. One of his hands had left his shoulders to wrap softly around Crowley’s wrist.

Fumbling with his free hand, he opened his belt and pants then went to Aziraphale’s. Crowley stilled his hips and lifted them so he could free them both.

“Hnn?” Aziraphale mumbled incoherently. 

The angel tried to press Crowley back against him, arching and whining. Crowley kissed him as he pushed down their pants and briefs.

“I’m not stopping,” he reassured.

With a snap, he coated his fingers in lube and took them both in hand. Aziraphale screamed. Then held onto Crowley for dear life as he set a fast pace, ripping cries from his angel’s lips as he tightened his grip sporadically.

Aziraphale’s hips were jerking up and his head was thrown backwards as pleasure built inside him at the frantic rhythm Crowley had set. The latter brushed his thumb at the top, rubbing at the sensitive flesh. A jolt of ecstasy made Aziraphale whimper and his eyes opened wide as what was building in his gut kept getting more intense, painful in a pleasurable way that Crowley guessed he had never experienced.

“What… what?” Aziraphale gasped out, lost and unable to stop his body from craving more.

“It’s okay, angel, just let go,” panted Crowley, far too close to his climax.

He closed his fist a bit more and went faster for a few strokes, and Aziraphale lost it. He screamed and shook as his orgasm washed over him, then went pliant under Crowley, moaning as the demon kept going, milking the last of his pleasure, his golden gaze riveted to his angel’s face. Crowley wanted to commit every expression, every sound to memory.

As dazed blue eyes met his with amazed adoration, Crowley broke, buried his face in his angel’s neck and muffled his cry as he came. Gentle hands petted his hair as he collapsed, lips kissing the side of Crowley’s head.

Crowley mumbled and tiredly snapped his fingers to clean them both. Spent, boneless, Crowley snuggled, tangled them together, pressing Aziraphale to him, breathing him in and basking in his warmth, and very pleased with the breathlessness and hurried heartbeat he had left his angel with.

“Well… that was certainly something.”

Crowley lifted his face to stare at his angel with an exasperated fond look.

“’Certainly something’?” he parroted.

“Well, I read of intercourse, obviously, but never saw the appeal and what was all the fuss about. Might have to reconsider that one,” chuckled Aziraphale.

“Only you can speak about sex like that, angel.”

“Oh? Do you need me to tell you that you were amazing? I can if you wish, but I thought the traces of our frolicking, that you so kindly erased, and I do appreciate that, dear, should be proof enough of my enjoyment.”

“Just shut up.”

Aziraphale obliged, keeping the slow trail of his fingers in Crowley’s hair and on his nape. After a few minutes, Crowley could feel him shift.

“Crowley, dearest? Are you falling asleep?”

“Mmmgrr?”

“The carpet might not be the best place. And we are half undressed. And my evening book is on the night table.”

“I’m not moving,” Crowley complained.

To prove his point, he tightened his hold as would a boa constrictor on his prey.

“Very well, I will carry you.”

And just like that, Aziraphale got up, lifting Crowley as if he weighed nothing and rearranging his limbs so Crowley could cling to him in a secured way. With one hand, he pulled up his pants to be able to walk and get to the bedroom.

If Crowley hadn’t been half asleep already, he might have gotten hard again from the casual display of strength clad in kindness and the fact that this powerful angel had just submitted to him.

He protested as he was lowered on the bed and the warmth that was Aziraphale disappeared.

“You need to put on your pyjamas, dearest.”

“Just leave me like this.”

“Certainly not!”

No need to argue with that mulled head. Crowley snapped his fingers and was cladded in his dark pyjamas. Aziraphale gave a tut of displeasure, as he had been changed as well. He climbed into bed, closed the covers above them, shifted until he was pressed against Crowley, then decided to lay half on him, tucked them up tightly then pressed his awfully fucking cold book on him.

“Angel!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Crowley awoke blissfully rested and relaxed. He blinked sleep from his eyes and stretched, meeting only emptiness. He sighed, he had hoped Aziraphale would stay until he woke up after sharing such intimacy last evening. He turned on his belly to bury himself in Aziraphale’s side, hoping to fill himself with the angel’s scent and warmth. But it was cold and nothing of his angel lingered.

A tense feeling gripped his insides and he sat up, suddenly alarmed. Aziraphale always left a bit of his presence for Crowley to find if he left the bed before him. Always. Not bothering with changing, he went to the kitchen, which was devoid of his angel and of any trace of cooking.

He hurried to the living room and stopped in his tracks. The place was a mess, a warzone. Books were everywhere, stacked up, piled in precarious ways. And in the middle of it was Aziraphale, dressed and ramrod straight, his arms laden with books he seemed indecisive as to where he needed to put them. To Crowley, it looked as if he had tried to bury himself, or rather, hide, in the chaos. As if he had wanted to fill every empty place, so that the room didn’t have any space left. The total opposite of Heaven.

Before Crowley could call him, Aziraphale turned and spotted him. He blanched and gathered the books close to him, clinging to them. He looked… composed. Stressed, but composed. But Crowley knew him better than that, to Crowley he looked lost, unsure, scared. Unhinged. 

“I… I will clean it up… I...”

“I don’t mind,” Crowley hurriedly assured.

He took a step forward, and Aziraphale took one back. Crowley stopped moving, completely.

“They needed to be sorted in a new way. A better one.”

“Okay.”

Aziraphale was looking frantically at his different towers that a careless breath could topple. Much like the whole situation.

“Do you need help?” Crowley asked tentatively.

Aziraphale flinched. Shook his head. Straightened his posture even more, even if it shouldn’t have been possible.

“I’m an angel, I do not need help,” he said hauntingly.

He looked on the verge of tears. Crowley lifted a hand toward him and Aziraphale fled, turning to the boxes behind him. He acted like a spooked animal. Crowley had never been good with animals, they could feel he was a demon, a snake. That he was dangerous, even if he only wanted to touch them, pet them. Had he… had he hurt Aziraphale?

Crowley balked at the idea of using manipulation to get his angel to react, but… he had a surefire way to make Aziraphale stop avoiding him. He needed to do it. Aziraphale was shattering and pretending everything was fine, bottling it all up.

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

As Crowley had known, hoped, it did the trick. Aziraphale turned to him, his face a mask of anguish.

“Oh, dearest, no, no,” he said, making his way to him.

Kindness had always been his weakness, and yet, his strength.

“I knew I was going too fast,” Crowley said regretfully.

He never lied to his angel. These were his real worries and thoughts, even if he only voiced them to get Aziraphale to voice his own. He had known he was going too fast, and had done it anyway. He truly was unforgivable. With everything happening, it had been too much.

“No, no. I wanted that…”

Aziraphale blanched, lowered his gaze on his twisting hands. He looked pained. That unthought-of admission, that truth, that overjoyed Crowley, was hurting his angel. 

“I’m a bad angel,” choked out Aziraphale.

Anger struck Crowley, biting deep in his heart and poisoning his mind. Heaven needed to burn. He could see his happiness turning to ashes in his powerless hands, just as his angelic form had dissolved into a snake as he Fell. But Crowley wouldn’t let them win. The only person for whom he rolled over and showed his belly was Aziraphale.

“Bullshit!” argued Crowley, determined.

“But it’s true, Crowley!”

“Absolutely not. You’re the best one, the only one worthy of the title.”

“How would you know? You’re a demon!”

 _That_ felt like a slap, but Crowley gritted his teeth and charged on.

“Yeah, and I knew those assholes. You are nothing like them and it’s a _good_ thing!”

Aziraphale shook his head, went back to his books, moving them with no apparent rhyme or reason.

“I’m a terrible angel. I’m a bastard, you say so yourself. I… I’m a coward, and… and I’m _weak_. Not only soft, but weak to the pleasures of earth… I keep breaking the rules, and… and what if I Fall?”

“You will not.”

Crowley had started half-circling his angel. Unable to stay put. If he couldn’t coil around him and keep him safe, he would stand guard. He poked at the piles of books, adjusting them so they were just a tiny bit more secured.

“But I’m doing everything wrong!” cried Aziraphale.

“Untrue, and you will not Fall.”

“How can you know? You don’t even know why you Fell!” snapped Aziraphale.

Crowley hissed. Aziraphale suddenly faced him and Crowley could see the regret grip Aziraphale as he realized what he had just said. Tears gathered in the angel’s eyes, his lips trembling, but not one was allowed to break free.

“Forgive me, dear.”

 _Always_. Nothing Aziraphale could say would make Crowley stop loving him. Aziraphale was a liar, even when he didn’t know it. He could tell Crowley, “get thee behind me, foul fiend,” and seconds later, smile at him and invite him into his home with a kind “after you” in one breath. Even if he was a liar in his words, Aziraphale’s actions were always honest.

“Is it because you ssslept with a demon? That’ssss why you think you’ll Fall?”

That idea hurt more than any careless words his angel could ever utter. And his angel knew that. He had been retreating again but that drove him back to Crowley, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands in his, caressing them with desperation and distress.

“No, Crowley, no, never. How could loving you be wrong?”

 _That_ was painful. He knew, of course, that Aziraphale loved him. He knew. But hearing it… _hearing_ it in this context. It hurt. That this was how his angel would say “I love you” for the first time. Aziraphale only saw the pain, and retreated, shaking his head.

“No, no, Crowley, oh, how can I mess up so badly? I always mess up… I told you I didn’t even like you. I’m so sorry. I keep hurting you. I’m the problem, don’t you see? I sully my body with food, I’m greedy, keeping things for myself, changing the bookshop to better suit my neediness, I sing even if it’s not really to honour Her… I’m a despicable angel.”

 _Too much, too fast_. So soon after averting the apocalypse, after standing up to Heaven and the beliefs that had been forced upon him for thousands of years. It was bound to happen. Crowley had been expecting it. He wasn’t prepared for it. He was at a loss on how to deal with it, how to help. 

“Ssssstop saying that!” he screamed.

Aziraphale fell silent. That made Crowley want to scream even more.

“Fine,” he said, angry and restless. “Stay right here,” he ordered.

His angel blinked at him, managing to keep all his unshed tears and feelings under control.

“Do. Not. Move,” insisted Crowley.

“Yes, dear.”

Crowley stomped to his front door, his plants quivering in his wake, then yanked it open and stomped some more in the corridor. He had only just reached Miss Aigrie’s flat when he started banging on the door. It opened to a distraught old lady, slippers on, hair undone and dressing gown tightly wrapped around her.

“Anthony?” she asked, alarmed and surprised.

“I need you to tell him what you think a good angel is,” explained Crowley, already dragging her to his flat.

“Anthony, it’s 6 AM!” protested Miss Aigrie.

“I need you, Margaret,” requested Crowley.

She hadn’t made a move to stop him or slow him down. She took a good look at his face and simply nodded. Soon, not really knowing how they had made their way to the living room so fast, she stood in the middle of a mess of books with one very dignified and all soldier-like Aziraphale in front of her. And she knew immediately what was happening. He hid it well, too well, but she knew how distressed, lost, broken and distraught he was. She knew the signs, had seen them on her Ernest.

“Tell him,” urged Crowley.

 _What was a good angel?_ That made no sense. But that didn’t matter, if it was important for Aziraphale. Things didn’t have to make sense.

“Well, a good angel is a force for good. A warrior of God to keep at bay the forces of evil. And I believe they are kind, understanding, non-judgmental of all our misgivings and weaknesses.” 

Aziraphale’s hands were shaking. He hid them behind his back, clapping them tightly behind him like a soldier. He looked angry, too, glaring at Crowley.

“And what about an angel on Earth? Enjoying, oh, I don’t know… food? Songs? Human’s creations?”

“Oh, that would be nice. It would help them understand us, forgive us and guide us, wouldn’t it?”

“Thank you, Margaret.”

And she was escorted back to her home. But before Crowley could close her own door to her face and hurry back to his beloved, she asked him:

“Was that the answer you were looking for?”

“Perfect.”

Margaret would be looking forward to having a new plant in her collection.

Crowley went back to his angel, who looked ready to argue. Crowley raised a finger to make the angel shut up and gave him his hand, palm up. Aziraphale stared, not understanding. Crowley wiggled his hand as if expecting Aziraphale to give him something. His angel tentatively gave him his hand and Crowley smiled at him with great fondness.

“Your phone, angel,” he explained.

“Oh. Er… ok.”

He gave him the phone, flushed and too troubled to wonder what Crowley wanted with it. He saw him open his contacts and select Lilly. He huffed and tried to remind him of the hour. He was ignored.

“Hello, Lilly.”

“Who are you? Did something happen to Mr. Fell?” she sounded half asleep.

Crowley loved humans. He pressed on the speaker button.

“It’s Crowley.”

“Oh. Is everything alright?”

“What makes a good angel to you?”

“What?”

“You heard the question.”

“I’m an atheist, you know? I don’t believe in angels.”

“Humour me. If you could get an angel, what would make them a good one?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s hard. Well… I guess they’d be a protector? Yeah, someone that helps humans but… but without taking away their choices, their free will. They would guide humans, but not too much.”

“Okay. And a personality treat?”

“Kind.” No hesitation.

“And would you want them to partake in food? Music? Literature? Find love? Stuff like that?”

“Sure, why not? It’s really a Christian thing, all that sinning stuff and to keep the clergy abstinent. Utterly stupid, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

He hung up and went to the next name on the screen, and the next and so on. Dalorian, the gay owner of the little coffee shop, the waiter at the Ritz, and so on. Each time, they got the same sort of responses.

“Someone helping in small ways.” “Showing the right way to people.” “Kind.” “Understanding.” “Not taking away someone’s free will.” “Selfless.” “Being a model of how to act.” “Bringing joy to people.”

He hesitated to call Madame Tracy or Anathema and Newt but they wouldn’t do it. They knew what Aziraphale was. But Warlock didn’t, and was precious to him.

“Brother Francis?” There was hope in his voice.

Crowley had briefly forgotten whose phone he was using.

“Warlock hell-*spawn, you really should turn off your phone at such an hour!”

“Nanny, you can’t phone me at such an hour,” his tone mimicked Crowley’s in a way that gritted his teeth. Crowley had raised him so well, “and then berate me for answering!”

 _He had a point. Never mind_. Crowley asked the fateful question. There was silence on the other end of the line for a bit.

“Brother Francis, I guess? You called him ‘angel’ all the time when you thought I wasn’t listening.”

“Ah, y-yeah but I mean a…”

“Still him. He was always spouting nonsense about loving each other, not harming living things yada yada. But also, if I was mean, or broke or killed something, he wouldn’t yell. He would tell me it was an honest mistake. He would forgive me. He would explain why what I did was wrong, and say the action was bad but never that _I_ was bad.”

“Thank you Warlock, gotta go, get into lots of trouble, I will call back soon.”

“With Brother Francis!” demanded Warlock.

Aziraphale reached for the phone but thought better of it, and retracted his hand with sadness. Crowley agreed, he wasn’t in any state to talk to the kid.

Then Crowley took a leap of faith (glancing briefly up) and called the priest from the church Aziraphale was a patron of. Aziraphale joined them because that church had made the choice to welcome LGBTQ+ people, but with a particular twist, they actively told bigots they were not welcomed. When one prominent patron who presented himself as supportive revealed he was, in fact, a bigot and withdrew his help, Aziraphale had stepped in.

“Mr. Fell? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sorry, not him.”

“Oh, Mr. Crowley, I presume? I have heard much about you, what an unexpected pleasure, how may I be of help?”

Crowley stared at Aziraphale that had turned beet red. He asked his usual question.

“Ah. Hard question. Obedient, I suppose. Strong, intransigent, incorruptible. They are the wrath of God, warriors, bringer of punishment.”

Crowley hated Her and regretted ever believing for one second She would grant him, or Aziraphale really, any mercy. As he thought that, the priest cleared his throat.

“But that’s only what the Bible says. It’s not really what people want. If you ask around, you will see that they see, and wish, for angels to be kind, helpful, guides, unjudging, ever understanding, guardians and bringer of faith and hope.”

… Alright. He owed Her an apology. Might get to it if She ever offered one for casting him out. Or at least an explanation. Crowley shook himself and got back on track, asking the question about a personality trait and enjoying human’s inventions. The priest laughed.

“Oh, I would say they would be very much like our Mr. Fell, really. He is such a delight to be around, if you don’t try to buy his books, that is, but then, if he were an angel and protected humanity with the same vehemence, it would be very reassuring, don’t you think? He is always kind and helpful, but rarely pushy. Looking at him live is an inspiration, he makes you want to enjoy life as much as he does.” 

“Thank you.”

He truly meant it. He would have to curse a lot to compensate for all the times he had said those words today. Or not. He didn’t owe Hell anything anymore. He, too, had to remember that.

“Are you trying to prove to him you are in the right in calling him ‘angel’?” asked the priest, slightly teasing.

“Yeah, something like that.”

He hung up and flung the phone to the couch. Aziraphale was looking everywhere but at him.

“A bad angel, my ass. You heard them. You heard the fucking _priest_. And before you say ‘they are human and don’t know anything’, let me remind you we’re on _our side_. On the side of humans. We chose them. You are what they want. The perfect angel made for them.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders shook, his whole form trembling. But he was still resisting. Crowley leaned in close, his lips at his angel’s ear.

“You will not Fall. What they belittled you for are your strengths, what makes you a good angel.”

A wretched sob escaped Aziraphale and he clamped his hands on his mouth to contain the next ones. He was shaking his head, as if to refute all he had heard, deny that it was true. Crowley reached for him, intending to gather him in his arms.

“I do not need to be consoled!” Aziraphale vehemently refused.

Tears had started to overflow and the angel was angrily wiping at them. He was breaking. And he wouldn’t let Crowley help, hold the pieces of him so he wouldn’t be destroyed. And that devastated Crowley.

“Angel, please.”

Aziraphale evaded him, shaking his head. Crowley gulped down a sound of distress. How was it possible that the angel had made him rescue him for fun and now that he truly needed it, he didn’t allow it? Crowley fell on his knees, hands stretched forward. 

“I love you, I love you, _I_ _love you_.”

More silent tears. Then, a look, and Crowley knew whatever was coming would hurt. 

“It’s a four letter word, dear, you don’t like those.”

A reminder of his own fears. Or did Aziraphale truly not believe him? How it hurt for them to admit their feelings to each other in such a disastrous way. But Crowley wouldn’t let Aziraphale push him away so easily. He had left at the bandstand. This time, he would remain.

“Then I adore you! I worship you!”

Aziraphale looked appalled.

“One can only adore and worship God!” replied Aziraphale in autopilot.

Crowley sneered and would have shown his fangs had they been out.

“I’m a demon, remember?” _Two could play at that game_ , “Curse Her and Her mind games!”

“Crowley!” shrieked Aziraphale.

“She cast me out, took away Her love. You let me approach you anyway, you lifted your wing to shield me, you offered me everything I thought lost forever! And you gave me things I never knew; acceptance, forgiveness.”

 _That was it._ Crowley was fighting the wrong adversary. Aziraphale hadn’t lost faith, ever; he believed and loved Her with all his might. He had simply lost faith in Heaven. Crowley was reminded of how Aziraphale had tricked Gabriel, making him admit that he didn’t know the ineffable plan. Crowley had to appeal to Her to get through to Aziraphale.

“She wouldn’t let you Fall, Aziraphale. You didn’t renounce Her, but Heaven. And you know what? She chose you! She let us stop Armageddon. You believe in Her wisdom and planning, yes? Then I was made for you, to help you break free from Heaven and prepare you to be able to stand with the humans, with Her creations that She asked us to love like we did Her. And you were made for me, to keep me from getting twisted by Hell. Ineffable plan, right?”

Aziraphale blinked out more tears. That seemed to have reached him, adding with all the nice things the humans had said. He seemed calmer. Crowley, still on his knees, crawled to him. Aziraphale didn’t move. Crowley didn’t touch him, simply offering his arms.

“So, please, accept Her gift and let me help you,” he pleaded.

With a wounded sound, Aziraphale collapsed in his hold. He buried his trembling face in Crowley’s neck, he clung to his back with the force of a drowning man. Crowley gathered him even closer, making him sit on his lap, wrapping around his angel as much as he could. With a thought he let his wings unfold around them and closed them around Aziraphale, covering him in soft blackness, hiding him.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he murmured.

Aziraphale wasn’t sobbing, he was full-on crying, hiccupping. Finally allowing everything to come crashing down, to be let out, in the safety of Crowley’s hug, of his wings.

“Don’t let go,” begged Aziraphale.

“Never, angel, never.”

After some long moments, the desperation in the angel’s hold slowly faded and he simply rested against Crowley, abandoned in his embrace. Sniffles still escaped him. Crowley was gently rocking him, humming comforting sounds and caressing his back in slow motions.

“I feel…” Aziraphale’s voice was cracked and raw. He fumbled, not knowing which word to use to describe his state of mind.

“Tired,” provided Crowley.

“I’m an angel, we don’t tire,” replied Aziraphale, the words automatic.

“Emotionally tired, exhausted, even,” replied Crowley, unfazed.

He shifted, and Aziraphale tightened his hold, Crowley kissed his brow and, making sure his wings didn’t stop hiding him, placed his arms under Aziraphale to lift him up. The angel seemed too weak to even wrap his legs around him. Crowley used a miracle to get the strength to carry him to their bedroom. A reverted situation than last time, a much sadder one.

As they reached the bed, he gently got Aziraphale to stand, still protected by his wings, still pressed to him.

“Let’s get you in pyjamas, yes?”

A nod. Aziraphale didn’t move a muscle. Crowley knew he didn’t like being undressed or dressed with miracles. Tenderly, Crowley pulled on the bowtie and took it off, placing it in Aziraphale’s pocket. Then he started unbuttoning him, then sliding off pieces of clothing, folding them and miracling them onto a chair. He undid the angel’s pants, letting them fall to the floor and Aziraphale numbly kicked his shoes off and stepped out of them. Crowley helped him take off his socks by stepping on the front part. At last, he was naked and Crowley assisted him with putting on the nightgown. During it all, he kept his wings around Aziraphale, stroking gently, comfortingly, and kept them pressed together as much as he could.

How to get them in bed without breaking their hold? As Crowley thought about it, he opened the covers. Then he sat on the mattress, letting Aziraphale slide on his lap and nuzzle back into him. Crowley wrapped his wings more tightly around Aziraphale, and let himself fall backward on the plush bed. Then he pulled them both into bed and pulled the covers above them.

Aziraphale was laying on him, in the foetal position so that no part of him was out of Crowley’s wings. Tentatively, Crowley slid his fingers through the short curls, gently scratching the scalp.

“Mmm. I get why you like when I do that.”

When Aziraphale wasn’t relaxed, his blue eyes were wide open. Crowley softly brushed his eyelids to make him close them.

“Sleep,” he instructed.

“How?”

“Turn off your mind.”

“I’m not sure I can do that,” apologized Aziraphale.

Crowley started to hum, and then, very softly, to sing.

“I'll be your mirror  
Reflect what you are, in case you don't know  
I'll be the wind, the rain and the sunset  
The light on your door to show that you're home

When you think the night has seen your mind  
That inside you're twisted and unkind  
Let me stand to show that you are blind  
Please put down your hands  
‘Cause I see you

I find it hard to believe you don't know  
The beauty you are  
But if you don't, let me be your eyes  
A hand to your darkness so you won't be afraid…” (2)

He didn’t reach the end of the song. Aziraphale was sleeping peacefully, his mind finally allowed to rest. A long overdue one. Crowley kept singing anyway. He loved that song, it spoke to him, he had wished to hear those words and now he could offer them to Aziraphale. They were so different, yet sometimes so alike.

## ***

Crowley had always known Aziraphale needed to sleep, to truly unwind, not with alcohol but with blissful, undisturbed sleep. He wasn’t surprised that now that he had managed to get the angel asleep, he wouldn’t wake up. It had been four days and nights already.

Aziraphale barely shifted in his sleep, and if he did, it was to snuggle more deeply against Crowley, or bury a hand in his feathers, fist softly closed around them. Once or twice, he had almost woken up, mumbling and blinking only for Crowley to hum and pet him, making him drift back immediately.

Crowley hadn’t slept at all, watching over his angel to make sure nothing could disrupt him, ready to erase any nightmares that might try to invite themselves. He had managed their respective lives through his phone so that everything was in order for when Aziraphale was ready to get back to the world. But mostly, he had watched Aziraphale. Snakes were able to stay awake and unmoving, contemplative creatures. And what better view than an angel? He would never tire of observing Aziraphale.

Crowley felt the angel shift against him, nuzzling his face into the crook of Crowley’s neck, with that desperate way of people waking up when they wished they could catch just a few more minutes of sleep, but their body had decided otherwise.

“Crowley?” he mumbled.

As if Aziraphale wasn’t moulded to him, his nose buried in his hair.

“Yes, angel?”

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes again, and didn’t move for a few minutes. Then he trailed his fingers in Crowley’s feathers.

“Fancy breakfast in bed?” proposed Crowley.

“You spoil me.”

“For as long as you allow me to,” he promised. 

Slowly, he extricated himself, insanely pleased that despite the promise of food, Aziraphale clung to him till the last second. Crowley made sure he was still wrapped in the blankets, then kissed him tenderly, and nearly ended up back into the bed for more cuddles, but managed to force himself to go cook. To placate his angel, he gave him his book, propping it on a pillow for easier reading without Aziraphale needing to move a toe.

After a while, he came back bearing a full tray and settled back in bed, Aziraphale immediately cosying up to his side, if now in a seated position.

“Oh, isn’t that dear Warlock’s breakfast?” he asked with affection.

“Well, it’s the only thing I know how to cook.”

One learns fast with a hellion requesting it, needing it to be made by Nanny and not the help.

“It’s perfect.”

Hot chocolate. Pancakes with jam. Scrambled eggs. Buttered toast. Apple quarters cut to look like bunnies (3). Aziraphale took a mouthful and started silently crying.

“Angel,” worried Crowley, full of dismay.

“It’s very good, dearest.” A pause. “IIt’s just… now that the dams are open, it seems I can’t quite close them… and… well…you… you make me happy.”

Happy tears. Good tears. _Right_? A heavy sigh came from Aziraphale as he continued to eat.

“I feel so rested… How could I be so wrong about so many things?”

A new wave of tears slid down his cheeks, and he sniffled as he ate. Crowley nudged behind him, slithering and twisting until he had managed to sit behind Aziraphale, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and cushioning him. Then Crowley started kissing the tears away, unfolding his wings again to provide shelter.

“You were surviving. Doing what kept you safe while still not compromising your integrity.”

“I was a coward.”

“A coward wouldn’t have done half of what you did. Especially not keep a demon around. Not stand up to Heaven, many times, to stop the apocalypse.”

“But…but I’m still so… so stuck! You, you let go of all that…”

“Yeah, I’m also the one that wanted to leave Earth behind and elope with you. And it was easier in my time, we didn’t know what Falling was, I just… asked all the questions that you have to keep buried because you know what will happen to you. No one can blame you for fearing Falling.”

Aziraphale was petting the black wings, silent. Crowley nuzzled the white locks.

“Tell me, angel.”

“Mmm?”

“I was thinking, young LGBTQ+ people are such cowards for hiding it from their bigoted family, for trying to conform to keep a secured life.”

Aziraphale turned around in Crowley’s embrace, indignant.

“Crowley! How dare you say that?! Those poor dears fear losing their loved ones! It’s totally normal! As is being scared of change! Standing up to bigotry and years of conditioning is hard! Furthermore, many have to hide it, it’s dangerous for them, their own family could turn violent! Really, you…”

Aziraphale trailed off as he noticed the smirk on Crowley’s lips. He huffed and pouted, letting his back face Crowley again.

“Such a passionate speech, angel. As if you knew quite well what they are going through, mmm?”

“Oh, you wily old serpent!” gasped Aziraphale.

Crowley did so love turning Aziraphale’s own arguments against him. Silence settled around them and soon, the tray was sent back to the kitchen with a miracle. Aziraphale kept playing with Crowley’s wings and hands, occasionally bringing them to his lips. 

“Crowley, dearest,” he was nervously playing with Crowley’s fingers, “I… I meant it… you know… when… when I said I love you.”

“I know, angel. I love you too, with every fiber of my being.”

Aziraphale started crying again and Crowley brushed those tears with his wings, tightening his hold on the angel and kissing his temple and brow.

“I really am sorry for what I said about four letter words…”

“It’s alright, angel. I also need some reconditioning.”

“Does that mean I shall call you kind and nice all the time to get you used to it?”

Crowley buried his fingers in Aziraphale’s soft sides and enjoyed tremendously the yelp that got him.

“You fiend!” protested the angel, laughing.

“As if me not liking it ever stopped you before,” complained Crowley.

“Indeed. But I did refrain.”

“Didn’t notice.”

A huff, then Aziraphale turned in his embrace and kissed him deep and slow. With a contented sigh, the angel nestled against Crowley again. He tugged a bit on one wing to drape it more snugly around him, and closed his eyes.

Crowley had bet Aziraphale would enjoy sleeping. He hoped some more rest would help him find his footing again. They had made so much progress. It wasn’t enough to erase all the harm that had been done upon him. There was still a long way to go, a daily fight that would get easier with time. But now, they had a good soil for Aziraphale to grow in and take strength from when he needed to.

## ***

They had mostly disappeared for a full week and worried their acquaintances. Especially after Crowley’s weird phone call about angels. When reality had made itself known again, with troubles in the renovating and modifying of the bookshop that needed one of them to go, Crowley had elected that he would. He didn’t want the angel to see his nest all messed up, and there was no need to stress him out.

When Crowley opened his door, he found plates of not easily-spoiled wrapped foods waiting for him. He lifted his head in time to see Miss Aigrie shut her slightly ajar door. Some weren’t from her, but she had been the one delivering them. He snapped all of it to his angel and left. He would have to go select a nice plant for her.

He smiled as he felt warmth on his wrist. His marvellous, beloved angel. He pressed his bracelet for a few moments before starting the car and terrorizing pedestrians and motorists alike. He arrived at the bookshop to discover policemen waiting. Wouldn’t do to park on the forbidden spot, then. Very well. He found a very, very tight place and manoeuvred for a good five minutes to get in it, just because the cops were staring at him wondering if he was going to ram into the car behind him. That wasn’t his purpose, his purpose was that the owner of the car wouldn’t be able to get out and sweat buckets at the idea of damaging the pretty and expensive Bentley.

Once done with his show, he got out of the car, swayed his hips to the nearest pedestrian crossing, and crossed by walking right next to the white stripes.

“Are you the owner of the bookshop?” asked the policemen as he reached them.

“I’m the ‘Co’ in A.Z. Fell and Co.”

They motioned for him to enter. Mr. Dalorian looked very stressed out, as did Lilly, and the relieved look they got in seeing Crowley should have made his demon blood boil. The bookshop still wasn’t looking like much, empty of most of his books, bookshelves, and furniture covered in plastic sheets and shoved to the sides, with its wall destroyed to get to the other shop. Its wall… what was he seeing? He stared, his jaw opening slightly in his surprise.

“Do you have any way to explain that?” asked a police officer.

Crowley lifted a finger, to impose a moment, and fished out his phone.

“Angel?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“Why are there weapons of all sorts coming out of your wall?” he asked, bemused.

“Oh... I… might have… er… confiscated those at some point, and promptly forgot about them.”

 _“And stashed them in your bookshop’s wall?_ ” Crowley almost asked, before remembering he was being listened to.

“You don’t know,” he said out loud.

“Dear I just said-”

“Ah, you think that might be the previous owner? Yes, I will tell that to the _police_.”

“Oh.”

“Ah, he was a bit of a lunatic?”

“I resent that, dear.” 

“Yeah, I will deal with it, angel.”

He hung up as Aziraphale thanked him. He went over to stare at the weapons sticking up from all over the wall, haphazardly miracled in without a second thought. He rolled his eyes at his angel’s antics. Which gave him a solution. Without coming too close, since he was being watched, he inspected what he could see and found that none were recent. 

“Looks to me all of those are rather antique, no?” he pointed out.

“Yes. That is why we called you here instead of arresting Mr. Fell,” replied a policeman.

Oh, Crowley would have loved to see them try. No, better, Aziraphale would have loved the predicament, it being a _perfect_ occasion for Crowley to come and rescue him. He could have James Bond-ed him out of prison, or maybe tried his hand at lawyering him out? _The possibilities_! 

He dealt with the boring paperwork as fast as he could, which took hours, but fortunately, he knew where Aziraphale kept everything, and also took the opportunity to fuck up some things at the precinct he was taken to, gave out cards of good specialized lawyers to whores, and finally got kicked out. He couldn’t wait to get back to his angel. He pressed his bracelet, and felt the answering warmth a few seconds later. Then his pocket made a harp sound.

“Dear Crowley, I will be at the barber. Mind how you go. Yours truly, Aziraphale.”

The angel still wrote texts as if they were very short polite letters. It endlessly amused and yet, unnerved Crowley. He groaned as he had wanted to spend time with Aziraphal, that couldn’t be helped. At least the angel was taking care of himself and going out again.

He sauntered into his corridor and entered the plant room. They didn’t quiver. He had left them alone for too long. High time to remedy that.

“Well, well, well. Inspection time,” he warned.

The shaking started immediately. Much better. Slowly he started to make his way in between the plants, suddenly stopping to scrutinize one, with an order that had no rhyme or reason. Distractedly, he caressed the myosotis, and resisted the sudden urge to press his bracelet. He lifted an eyebrow as he noticed a plant had spread his leaves in a conspicuous way, as if to distract him from two of them, tucked away. And the plant was strangely very much unmoving. It was one of his oldest, one that had never failed to meet his expectations.

“What do you have here?” he hissed.

The leaves dropped in stress and Crowley pushed them aside to get to those it had tried to hide. Ugly, brown, shrivelled leaves! Sunburnt!

“You know better!” he yelled.

Its exposition hadn’t changed. He hadn’t moved any of the plants around it. There was no explanation for this betrayal.

“You’re one of the oldest,” he accused.

He was beyond angry. You couldn’t trust anything! Years! He had had it for years! He was proud of it! He had taken care of it! Given it all it needed! And this is what he got? _Intolerable_. He grabbed the leaves, ready to yank them out. He was contemplating dismembering the plant in front of the others to serve as an example. He froze as his eyes landed on the myosotis.

He let go of his prey and gently, as to not frighten it, he came to stand in front of the forget-me-not. He knelt and brushed the leaves and flowers. Two places had a small trace of burn. He had repotted it rather recently, made place for it to grow. Doing that had changed its position.

“Don’t fret, I will place you better. I will give you fertilizer to help you heal.”

He gently cut the damaged leaves and rubbed clay on the remains. Satisfied, he turned back to the previous plant, pondering what to do with it. Then he noticed how the sun filtered in the room. Directly to the myosotis. It should have had many leaves sunburnt. But it didn’t. Just two small spots had been. He darted his eyes to his betrayer that had had no reasons to scorch… except if it had extended its leaves to shield the myosotis from direct unwanted sunlight.

“… You protected it?” he asked, surprised.

That plant risked itself to take care of the forget-me-not his angel had gifted to him? He felt his throat constrict under the emotion. He reached to the injured plant, feeling it quiver in terror.

“You did well,” he praised.

All the greenery, who had been shaking and taking their distance from their future dead friend, froze in surprise and looked in amazement as Crowley gently petted the plant and took care of it with the gentleness close to the tone that was only reserved for the myosotis.

“That was very brave of you. I’m very proud. You keep it up. I do not expect you to grow, take the time you need to heal.”

Crowley turned to the myosotis and smiled.

“You got yourself a protector, lucky you.”

He cleared his throat and glared at the other plants.

“Be thankful, you got yourself a delay. Better sort yourselves out!” he warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are deeply appreciated. Comments even more, they will mean the world to me! (you can tell me what you loved etc etc I don’t bite ;) ).
> 
> Notes:   
> (1) it’s in the book see : https://pratchettgeek.tumblr.com/post/182785162667/good-omens-quote + there was a scene in the screen book if I’m not mistaken
> 
> (2) The Velvet Underground – “I'll Be Your Mirror”. Mr Gaiman said it was one of Crowley’s favourite songs. I always wondered if the lyrics were for him or Aziraphale (truly for both of them) but Crowley decided that for me in this fic lol 
> 
> (3) Apple bunnies: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b7/ec/23/b7ec238901dda308132641c18ea26e57.jpg


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to HolRose, WishIWasAPrincipality and Jewely who took the time to review last chapter :) Thank you for keeping me going! It means a lot ! 
> 
> Thank you to all those who left kudos :)   
> Oi_Shem, matcha_lace, Homashifei, ashfirebird, Angels_Dineing_At_The_Ritz, Reef, apocryphalArtist, MKage, Cayran, Lirumi, BrightEyedAthena, Pepwhy, nmq, myladyclegane, Xaraxia, Prophetic_Fortune_Cookie, Aezara, HolRose, wandering_go, brightsongbird10, Ranger, Sagh4, Iamjustherek, Ronica_Zaprin, Jewely, Gleefullymacabre, elf_on_the_shelf, goblinsss, chailduss, DarkAngel2891, crumblingredsky, Shes_beauty_and_shes_Grace, Abaddon_hope, Myfirststars, apelynnerich, Emmief5, TheTraciWho, ladyofthedragon, KiaraMGrey, sarahgoodomens_2911, Balyse93, ThermyWho, nocturnalmesmerism, WishIWasAPrincipality, Veden, togolynn, and Muffinlord and 36 guests

Finally, after so many secret dancing lessons, Crowley felt confident enough in his skills to show off to his angel. He hurried to the now reopened, though not totally finished, bookshop, or rather, _library_ , and entered and saluted with a cheerful jingle of the bell.

Mr. Dalorian, who was the one managing the library most of the time, gave him a nod in greeting and pointed to where Aziraphale had settled to read. He had learnt quickly that if he didn’t want Crowley to call out “angel” and disturb everybody, he had to direct him fast.

Crowley made his way to his angel, stepping above, and sometimes on, people reading on the cushions scattered on the floor. Finally he reached the calm corner Aziraphale had claimed for himself, somewhere people had understood they shouldn’t come to pester him. If he felt like interacting, he was in the common room, reading to people, answering questions, and so on.

With great theatrics, Crowley let himself collapse on the beloved sofa, with a leg lifted on the backrest, the other one dangling to the ground, and letting his head drop to the angel’s lap, who had lifted his book in time to allow it.

“Angel, let’s close early tonight.”

“We can’t, dear, the library has strict hours and Mr Dalorian isn’t available tonight, neither is Lilly.”

Crowley gave a loud putout groan. Foiled by his owns plans once again! Why had he suggested the angel change the bookshop? A kiss landed on his nose, then on his lips to placate him.

“Fine. As soon as we can, then. I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh, do tell, dearest.”

“Won’t be a surprise if I do.”

“Very well,” Aziraphale graciously accepted.

Crowley could feel the anticipation and joy radiating off him.

“Later, I can go fetch some sushi for us to enjoy while you continue sorting your books.”

Aziraphale gave a nod. They had been staying late in the bookshop so he could arrange everything and plan the opening of the restricted areas. He already had a long list of people requesting access to his most prized possessions.

“How was your day? Any anxiety?”

There had been no nightmares for a while now, but Aziraphale liked to check.

“No. I put my plan into action.”

“The bank one?” wondered Aziraphale, closing his book and putting his hands in Crowley’s hair.

“Yeah. Went down perfectly. All the servers burnt to a crisp right as the backup was supposed to happen. My guys then managed to pilfer from big companies just enough money not to raise too much attention. They won’t be able to prove anything went wrong. It was such lovely chaos, you should have seen them losing their minds and running around like beheaded chickens.”

“Wonderful, my dear, worthy of a great wahoo.”

Crowley grinned like the serpent that caught the canary.

“Has the money been safely dispatched as donations to where you wanted it?”

“Of course.”

That earned him another kiss. He grabbed Aziraphale’s nape and deepened it, enjoying the shiver that shook his angel. He teasingly licked Aziraphale’s lips as they parted. He didn’t miss the glimpse of desire in his angel’s eyes, nor the way the pupils dilated.

Crowley shifted so that he could bury his nose in the crook between his angel's hip and waist. That put his shoulder at the right angle and height so that Aziraphale could rest his book on it and read peacefully as Crowley basked in his heat and slept.

When the time came, Crowley having already come back with the promised sushi, he literally ushered every customer out so they could _finally_ have the place to themselves. He started cleaning the mess that was the library as Aziraphale set the table.

“Are you stress-cleaning, dear?” wondered Aziraphale, amused.

“I am not stressssssssed,” replied Crowley, _very_ convincingly.

“Of course. How rude of me to suggest it.”

“Exssssssactly.”

A soft chuckle answered him, and Crowley pushed a plate of sushi in front of the angel so he would eat rather than poke fun at him. He watched, as he always did, as Aziraphale savoured every bite. Crowley nursed his sake as blissful and delighted expressions graced his angel’s face, accompanied sometimes with a sound of deep appreciation.

“You were right, this new chef is a good one. I love how strong his rice is, and it holds steady in the chopsticks, but breaks apart deliciously as soon as you eat it.”

Crowley gave a grunt of agreement. He had noticed that in the single sushi he had tasted. He hadn’t wanted to get drowsy after eating. Not today.

“We will have to go eat at his place. I want to congratulate him.”

“Sure, angel.”

Crowley pushed down the urge to get up and clean. Instead he did get up and put on the gramophone. A cheery music with a moderate tempo started spreading into the library. His nerves a wrecked mess, Crowley started tapping his foot to it, thinking over everything he had learned, all his little issues he had to make sure wouldn’t tamper with his surprise.

“Oh! A gavotte!” exclaimed Aziraphale, delighted.

Crowley was suave. Crowley was cool. He sauntered with casual confidence to his angel, a grin on his lips and his eyes hidden behind his glasses. He offered his hand to Aziraphale as he bent at the waist.

“Would you offer me this dance?”

The gavotte could be danced with many people or just by two. Once upon a time, it had been a very appreciated dance for couples. Crowley had thought the dance simple, and had been surprised to see how complex the seemingly easy steps actually were.

Aziraphale blinked at him, a slow smile starting to take over his face. He rose from the sofa and placed himself in front of Crowley, posed perfectly.

“You hid this talent from me, dear,” he remarked.

Both of them knew very well that Crowley hadn’t known this dance. But Aziraphale wanted him to say it. To admit he had taken lessons for him, so he could make him happy. Aziraphale needed to hear how much Crowley cared for him. _Because no other being had ever cared._

“I might be free again on Tuesdays now,” replied Crowley.

A pleased smile and _that_ twinkle in blue eyes.

“Is that so?”

“Or might you want to join me?”

They turned in circles, facing each other, not touching but getting close, then getting away. This resembled so much a courting parade, it made Crowley giddy.

“Gladly, if they will have me.”

Here came Crowley’s favourite part. He bent and offered a strand of forget-me-not to his angel. A mischievous glint entered Aziraphale’s eyes, and that small, crafty smile that drove Crowley crazy appeared.

“Ah… I was taught another version,” mentioned, innocently, the angel.

It was Aziraphale’s turn to give the flower, but as he bent to offer it, Crowley kissed him instead, before backtracking and continuing the dance.

“This one?” inquired Crowley.

Aziraphale beamed at him. Then he did the unthinkable, and with a huge grin, let his tongue dart out and do wicked things, then wrinkled his nose as he did when particularly delighted. Crowley promptly tripped.

As it was the part where they held each other by the elbow, Aziraphale tried to catch his fall only to end up falling with him. A huff escaped Crowley as he was momentarily crushed by his angel before he let himself fall beside him with a fit of enchanted giggles. 

“Oh, dearest, you can be such a prude!”

“ _I beg your pardon_!” exclaimed Crowley, insulted.

“Granted!” chuckled Aziraphale.

“You!”

Crowley was at a loss for words, so he climbed on top of the angel and kissed him until Aziraphale opened his mouth with a moan, and then Crowley thoroughly explored it, stealing any words or tease from him. Aziraphale had become pliant under him, answering, but giving Crowley the lead.

Soon, Aziraphale, as his mouth was ravished, slid his hands in Crowley’s hair and tugged gently. Growing it back really had been a good idea. As things got more heated, Crowley bumped one of his legs between those of the angel. A choked, wanton gasp answered him.

Crowley pulled away, grabbed the hands that tried to keep him there and pinned them at each side of the angel’s head. He didn’t miss the darkening of his eyes, the way his whole body tensed in anticipation. Just like when he had slammed him to a wall. Crowley groaned and closed briefly his eyes. He would have to remember that if they ever got to a point it could be useful.

“Crowley?” came a timid call of his name.

He dropped on his angel, hiding his face in his shoulder and breathing deeply. Their fingers linked naturally as he released his hold.

“Do you really want that, angel?” asked Crowley, muffled.

“Well, you can surely feel it against your leg,” testily replied Aziraphale.

To prove his point, he shifted his hips, and both of them groaned. Crowley pressed down to immobilize him, and used all his self-control not to throw caution to the wind at the deep moan the angel didn’t try to stifle at all.

“ _Your body wants it, yes, but… I don’t want to overwhelm you, to… go too fast_.”

Again. He didn’t say it, but Aziraphale heard it loud and clear.

“Oh, Crowley, dearest,” he said in that loving tone.

Crowley clung harder.

“That’s why you never initiated it again…” Aziraphale pensively stated.

He kissed the top of Crowley’s head, then nudged him gently so he would face him. Crowley didn’t budge.

“Crowley, dear, look at me.”

He couldn’t resist a request from his angel. He left the comfort of Aziraphale’s shoulder and did as asked, still shielded by his glasses. They had learned to bend, as to not hurt his nose when he forgot he had them on and crashed on a cushion or his angel. Resigned to his fate, he let Aziraphale gently pull them away and discard them.

“My… er… oh, let’s call a cat a cat, my mental breakdown wasn’t your fault.”

“Happened right after,” mumbled Crowley.

“Well, you did manage, very skillfully, to make me release a lot of endorphins. All that was pent up needed a let out.”

“What if it happens again?”

“Then I know you will be there to put me back together.”

Crowley tentatively pressed his lips to his angel’s, who hummed and parted his mouth in invitation. Crowley cupped Aziraphale's face and kissed him deeply, yet tenderly. Aziraphale covered Crowley's hands with his. Crowley kissed his brow, his eyelids, the side of his nose, the corner of his lips, his jaw.

Then, slowly, his golden eyes never leaving half-lidded blue ones, he reached for the bowtie. Aziraphale, his hands still on Crowley’s, was the one that guided him to pull it apart and free his neck. Together, they undid the first two buttons, and pushed the shirt aside.

With barely restrained desire, Crowley kissed his neck, gave gentle nips and nibbles as he lowered and closed his teeth, first on the junction with the shoulder, then on the collarbone. Aziraphale had buried his hands in Crowley's hair again, encouraging him, and letting out breathless puffs of air.

Deft fingers continued to undo buttons, and hands trailed feather-soft to expose skin. Aziraphale quivered as lips went to explore, top of the chest, sternum, ribs, stomach, side of the belly button, random places. Then, with a wicked glance as warning, Crowley gave a tentative lick at one perked nipple.

“Oh!”

_Sensitive, then._ He licked some more, gave gentle nips and sucked.

“Ooh!” 

The angel’s hands had fisted on his jacket. Crowley let his fingers rack on his sides, move up to reach the shoulders. He stopped lavishing the nipples and laughed in fondness as Aziraphale gave a whine. He kissed those delicious lips, reddened by all the previous kisses.

“Still sure?”

“Yes. I do believe I might seriously consider smiting you if you stop.”

“That’s a pretty intense yes,” teased Crowley.

“Yes, so get back to it,” Aziraphale half-complained, half-ordered with that tone of voice that would brook no arguments.

He grabbed Crowley’s scarf and dragged him down to kiss him. At the same time, he spread his legs open, rising his knees to bracket Crowley against him. Both of them gave a low moan of pleasure at the contact.

Crowley reached for one of Aziraphale’s hands and lowered it, with devotion in his eyes. Crowley closed his fingers around the snake-shaped cufflink, undoing it. His angel offered him his second wrist, letting him undress him with minimum aid. Reverently, Crowley slid Aziraphale's shirt and waistcoat off, and messily folded them on the side.

“Don’t worry, dear, you will miracle the creases away,” Aziraphale assured, his eyes glinting.

Of course he would, after making Aziraphale ask it of him with a blatantly nonsensical excuse. He kissed the top of Aziraphale’s hand, then the palm, the pulse at the wrist, adding a little nibble there and enjoying the hitch in his angel’s breath. He trailed closed lips to the inside of the elbow, licking at that vulnerable flesh.

Aziraphale had slid his hand under Crowley’s jacket and was clutching his waistcoat, as if he wanted to get closer. Crowley had reached the collarbone again and was practically attacking Aziraphale's offered throat, the angel's head thrown back and letting out delicious pants.

With a chaste kiss, Crowley took some distance, as much as Aziraphale’s grip on him allowed. Tenderly, he stroked his angel’s face, and his hair that had started to stick to his brows. He looked debauched, flushed in pleasure and anticipation. How Crowley adored him.

Unblinking golden eyes were riveted to blue ones as he trailed his fingers from neck to stomach, eliciting quivers and shudders, to finally rest on Aziraphale’s trousers. They had been lowered already, but not opened.

As an answer, Aziraphale tugged on Crowley’s vest to take it off. Then realized that this would mean Crowley couldn’t do as planned and pouted, put out. Crowley chuckled, gave him a peck, and threw his jacket away, then pulled off his shirt and waistcoat in one fluid movement. He hadn’t pulled them off past his head when he gave a startled gasp as Aziraphale’s hands pressed on his skin. Crowley discarded his clothes without a second thought and groaned as his angel racked his fingers on his sides then his back to grab his shoulders and drag him down again.

They were back to kissing, alternating between soft, languid ones, and deep, passionate ones. Aziraphale had started lifting his hips, as if to remind Crowley of what he had been planning moments ago. He heard the thuds of shoes being kicked off and couldn’t help a fond chuckle. If he had been told he would one day have a willing, eager angel underneath him…

Obeying that rather pointed hint, he undid Aziraphale’s pants and started to pull them down. As he had done for the shirt, he lowered his lips to the newly exposed skin. Nibbling on the jut of the hips, on those thick thighs that shook on his wake, on one quivering knee. His fingers hit metal and he glanced down.

“Socks garters?” he hummed.

Aziraphale didn’t answer him, eyes closed and hands scratching gently at his nape. Aroused beyond words, Crowley unclipped the socks and pulled them off. He kissed the angel’s shin, then started his way back up, massaging the flesh with sure hands. He stopped to open-mouth kiss his thighs, whimpers answering him. He bit down, and Aziraphale jerked up with a startled moan.

Finally, still lavishing kisses and bites on the insides of Aziraphale’s thighs, he hooked his fingers into the old fashioned undergarments and pulled them down. His angel was hard. A drop of precome slid down, and Crowley licked it away. He laughed as Aziraphale jerked up with a yell, almost hitting him; he would have, if Crowley hadn't predicted that reaction.

“S… sorry,” Aziraphale apologized breathlessly.

If he had wanted to add anything else, it was lost as Crowley blew on him, dropped kisses and tiny licks up and down, one hand wrapped at the base and the other dug into a plump thigh to keep in place the angel that was shaking with need.

Crowley glanced up and groaned at the display. Aziraphale had fisted a hand in the carpet, knuckles white. The other one was digging at Crowley’s shoulder, grabbing his nape at some particularly pleasant actions he did. His angel looked feverish, head rolling at each stroke from Crowley. Moans and gasps escaped him, and his lips were reddened from the times he bit himself as pleasure became too much. 

His angel, undone before him, helpless to the ecstasy Crowley lavished on him. He stopped his ministrations, captivated. Panting, Aziraphale blinked to focus himself and searched for Crowley’s eyes, finding them easily, as always, engrossed on him.

Crowley racked his eyes over Aziraphale’s naked form, and the angel let him, not shying away from his appreciation. The hand at Crowley’s back had tangled itself in his hair again, twisting strands before releasing them. Aziraphale shifted his head just so, and Crowley understood he was requesting a kiss. 

To think his angel, even in the throes of passion, of unknown desire, still preferred his lips on his mouth rather than on his hot, leaking skin… _That_ did unspeakable things to Crowley. The kiss was soft, tender, and Crowley had to hide his face in his angel’s neck to keep himself together.

He slid his hands under Aziraphale’s back, pressing the angel against him, holding him. He couldn’t believe his luck. Without thinking, he had started rocking their hips together, too far gone to care about the future state of his pants. He dragged his fingers to his angel’s lower back, then dug them into the pliant flesh of his ass cheeks. How he wanted to be buried there.

“Crowley,” came a plea filled with desire.

But it was far too soon. He gave a parting kiss to Aziraphale’s neck, then to his lips, unable to resist, lowered himself and winked before taking him in his mouth.

“Crowley! _…Ahhhn…_ ”

Aziraphale bucked up with a desperate cry and Crowley’s hand kept him firmly on the ground. He could do wicked things with his tongue and used that to his advantage and Aziraphale’s delight.

“Oooh… Hnn…”

He sucked gently and knew his angel wasn’t going to last long, too unaccustomed to such pleasure. That was exactly what he wanted. He was at the breaking point of his self-control and wanted so much more, but nothing that his angel wasn’t ready to give, nothing that would pressure him. Not too fast, never.

Aziraphale tugged on Crowley’s hair, incoherent, but trying desperately to warn him that he was getting far too close. Crowley chuckled, and that made Aziraphale scream. Happy to be a snake, Crowley sunk down and deepthroated him, ripping from him both a shout and his orgasm. He swallowed every drop of it.

He continued to suck and twist his tongue around Aziraphale until he was a mess of incoherent sounds. Aziraphale’s body soon went totally pliant under him. Crowley made his way back to the angel’s lips with tender pecks and caresses. Aziraphale could barely answer his kiss. 

“So, still ‘certainly something’?” he teased, laying on his side.

Aziraphale hit him gently. Crowley chortled, elated by such a reaction. He kissed Aziraphale’s exasperated expression and started playing with those delicious white curls. A now steady hand reached for Crowley, presumably to incite him to come closer and froze as it touched his belt.

“Oh, dearest, how uncouth of me!” lamented Aziraphale.

His clever fingers had already managed to open Crowley’s belt and were half done with his zipper, fully intending on freeing and grabbing him.

“Aziraphale.”

Crowley gently pushed his hands away and sat. His angel looked at him with incomprehension until realization hit him and he smiled brightly at Crowley.

“Of course, Crowley,” he assured.

And Aziraphale was bending to replace his hands with his mouth. So ready to please, unafraid. Crowley caught him before he could follow what he thought he had requested.

“No, Aziraphale, angel, no need.”

A confused look settled on his angel’s face.

“But… you didn’t come. And you’re hard.”

To prove his point, he unceremoniously palmed Crowley’s crotch, and the latter yelped and groaned at the same time. The guy that had said angels were innocent had obviously never met this one.

“It’s okay, angel.”

Aziraphale looked lost, puzzled, then sad.

“Is it because you think you’re less than me? You’re not. I know I carelessly implied it when I was talking about Heaven’s teaching, but I never thought so. Please, believe me. Pleasuring you isn’t beneath me.”

Trust his angel to refer to Roman etiquette for such things. To find blame for his actions that had only been there to protect his life. Their lives.

“Angel, I just don’t want you this way.”

And it was true. He wasn’t in the mood for that. He wanted to bestow pleasure upon _Aziraphale_ , to undo _him_ , to make _him_ scream Crowley’s name, to devour _him_. He felt himself pulse in restrained desire.

Aziraphale was looking at him, contemplating. For a moment, Crowley feared a huge misunderstanding. But before he could panic, Aziraphale got closer, placing his hands on Crowley’s thighs to push himself up. Crowley was ready to kiss him, but Aziraphale went for his ear.

“Then how do you want me?” he whispered, his breath hot and teasing.

Crowley nearly went undone just then and there. _Oh, fuck_. Aziraphale was going to be the discorporation of him. But it was for Aziraphale’s own good. He gritted his teeth.

“I… I’m fine like thisssss,” he managed.

Aziraphale settled on Crowley’s lap and crossed his arms. He wouldn’t let it go. He was going to argue. That only made Crowley want him more.

“That is not what you said, dear.” 

His angel was too damn clever when he wanted to be.

“That’sssss what I meant.”

“Crowley, you never lie to me, do you? Don’t start now.”

His tone was a tad reproachful and Crowley whined. This was playing dirty! Aziraphale sank his fingers in Crowley’s hair and began gently stroking. His lips were back to the shell of Crowley’s ear, his breath fanning on it.

“How do you want me?”

Crowley buried his head in Aziraphale’s neck and wrapped his arms around him, holding him with a desperation that begged Aziraphale to spare him.

“Tell me, dearest,” cajoled his angel.

And Crowley didn’t need to see Aziraphale’s expression to picture it. That earnest glint, that soft love, the way he looked when he wanted something from Crowley. He bit Aziraphale’s shoulder and Aziraphale bucked against him. The angel was getting hard again and Crowley was _dying_.

Which got worse as Crowley’s angel took his hands and placed them flush on his naked skin, right at the juncture of ass and thighs, giving him hold of both. Leaving him there, his angel trailed his fingers up Crowley’s shaking arms and went back to his belt. Crowley let him.

“I always wondered, is that your shed skin?”

Finally, something safe to discuss. If Crowley was lucky, he could side-track Aziraphale.

“Yeah.”

“I would love wearing something made from it, to have you close, always.”

How wrong he had been. Crowley surged forward, teeth almost clashing against Aziraphale’s in his urge to kiss him; deep, dominating. And his angel melted for him. With his hands still exactly where Aziraphale had placed them, that gave him leverage to rock them together, mimicking what he craved.

“Don’t sssay thingsss like that,” he begged, between kisses.

“Why?” moaned Aziraphale.

“You’ll make me lossse control.”

“Oh, please, do.”

_Oh, for fuck’s, God’s **and** Satan’s sakes!_ He was kissing Aziraphale again, but wanted more, deeper… and the only way for that… with a broken sound, he felt his resolve collapse. He wrapped his angel in his arms and kissed his brow, his hair, as if he were apologizing. He snapped his fingers, coating them with lube.

Carefully he pressed those to the top of Aziraphale’s ass cheeks, sunk down in a slow motion, parting them and rubbing at his entrance, teasing there before going up and down again.

“Oh! Yes, Crowley, yes.”

And Crowley realized that the bastard had known from the start. 

“ _Ngk_.”

_Could he really? Was he allowed? Wouldn’t it be too fast, too soon?_ His angel was clinging to him, moaning and panting. He met all of Crowley’s movements as if he couldn’t get enough of Crowley, as if he, too, wanted more.

At the next pass against a now-twitching entrance, he gently prodded with one finger and felt Aziraphale tense against him then lean into his touch with a hitch in his breath. He pressed in, the slight resistance giving way easily. He pulled out and went back to rubbing, and every two strokes, he would slide inside. Each time, Aziraphale made the most delicious sounds. When no resistance met him anymore, he added a finger and started the process again.

They were still rocking together, but with a languid rhythm, both concentrating on those new sensations. Aziraphale was abandoned on Crowley’s shoulder; as usual, his hands in red hair, on Crowley’s nape and back. Crowley pushed deeper and curved his fingers, pressing that place that would drive Aziraphale crazy once stimulated enough. His previous back and forth had already made this zone sensitive, and Aziraphale jerked in surprised pleasure.

“ _Oooh_!” 

Crowley kept that up, back and forth, scissoring, pressing, until Aziraphale was a shaking mess of moans. He had stopped petting Crowley, instead just clinging, unable to concentrate on something other than the fingers inside him and the delicious insufficient friction of Crowley’s flesh against his.

“Crowley,” he sobbed, full of longing and love.

“Aziraphale.”

He captured the angel’s lips, kissing him deep and gentle. He knew what he meant. That he thought they could never have this; not the sexual part, but the being together, _belonging_ to each other. Freely, without the fear of bringing the demise of their beloved.

Crowley miracled his hand clean and secured an arm under Aziraphale’s ass, hoisting him up, then placed his free hand flush on Aziraphale’s chest, his thumb teasing a nipple, and pushed him backwards. In aroused and amazed wonder, he watched as Aziraphale let himself fall without a hint of fear. Crowley followed the movement until Aziraphale was laid on his back, his legs still bracketing Crowley’s hips. His angel’s hands had trailed from Crowley’s back to his arms and now rested softly against Crowley’s upper thighs.

Aziraphale watched him with trust, offered. Crowley raised one of those manicured hands to his lips and kissed it, reverent. They were in the bookshop, or rather, the library: Aziraphale’s domain, his safe place for centuries. In his comfort zone, Crowley decided he could risk it.

Finally, Crowley got rid of the rest of his clothes with a snap. He pinched Aziraphale as he snorted at that.

“You’re breathtaking, dearest,” complimented Aziraphale.

“Shut up,” grumbled Crowley, reddening.

He kissed his angel to soften his rebuke, then coated himself in lube, miracled away the excess on his hand, and took position in between Aziraphale’s ass cheeks, rubbing against him and eliciting new sighs of pleasure. With a settling breath, he grabbed his angel’s hips and poked at his entrance, feeling the resistance. Holding himself steady, he pushed inside, the ring of muscle parting for him.

“ _Ahnnn_ ,” moaned Aziraphale.

The head in, trembling, he looked at his angel. He had closed his eyes and was panting heavily, but he was completely relaxed, trusting Crowley. Aziraphale was shaking, but not with apprehension or fear, but with desire and need. Slowly, Crowley sunk deeper, sliding inside with ease and being accepted fully. Groaning, he stopped, almost all the way in, and it was Aziraphale that closed his legs around him and pushed him those missing inches deeper. They were both trembling.

“Does… does it hurt?” he worried.

“No, dearest. It feels wonderful to be joined to you.”

Crowley’s hips jerked at those words and Aziraphale gasped. Crowley grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together and braced himself with it, the other one was holding Aziraphale's hip bone. He pulled almost completely out and slid leisurely back in, setting a slow pace.

“Angel,” he groaned.

Aziraphale had turned his face, panting in abandon and was tightening around him, encouraging him with a slow rock of his hips, pressing his legs against Crowley to push him always deeper. In a moment of weakness, Crowley thrusted harder and Aziraphale cried out, his back arching. Crowley reverted to his slower pace. Blue eyes sought his and a gentle hand cradled his face. Crowley kissed his palm immediately.

“Let go, dearest.”

Crowley shook his head and growled as Aziraphale locked his legs around him and pushed him as he arched his back, forcing Crowley even deeper. He let go of his angel’s hand and grabbed his hips, thrusting heretically a few times.

“W…wait,” requested Aziraphale through a moan.

Crowley froze.

“See? You would never hurt me, my gentle demon.”

With a wounded sound, Crowley dropped his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, shuddering as hands massaged his nape, trailing in his hair as always. He guided Aziraphale more fully on his lap, pressing as deep as he could, and started gyrating his hips. His angel moaned, then cried out as he started thrusting in earnest; long, profound and hard.

“Oooh… yes, yes, just like that.”

The pace had increased but remained measured. Crowley wanted to make love to Aziraphale; if he ever got another opportunity, he would try a more ardent one. But not for their first time. He watched as his angel arched and writhed, his pants turning to moans, then to cries.

“Ahnn, Crowley… feels g…good.”

Crowley could feel the pleasure build in Aziraphale, the manner he became frantic in the way he received him, manicured nails digging into the bicep he had caught, his fingers twisting on the carpet, his head rolling from side to side as he lost himself. And especially how his insides closed on Crowley, as if reluctant to let him leave, but parted for him, eager to have him deep.

“ _Ahhnn…_ _Nnn_.”

Crowley captured a nipple between his teeth, nipping and licking. Aziraphale screamed and shook, incoherent, blue eyes hardly managing to stay open. They were getting close, and Crowley was losing his rhythm. He reached between them and took Aziraphale, leaking, in hand.

“ _Ah_! _Ahhn_!”

He did a few strokes and Aziraphale was clamping around him, yelling out his ecstasy and closing his legs around Crowley to keep him deep inside as he shook and came undone. Crowley followed suit with a groan, releasing himself with shallow thrusts, riding out both their bliss. 

Spent and panting, Crowley pulled out, smiling at the whine his angel unconsciously released at losing his presence. Another preference to commit to memory, and what a lovely one. Crowley leaned to his angel’s side, stroking his face and curls, enjoying how Aziraphale nuzzled to his touch even as he went down from his orgasm.

He laughed as his angel sluggishly pushed him down and climbed on him, resting his head on his chest, tangling their legs and wrapping his arms around him.

“Sleepy, angel?” he asked.

“ _Mmm_.”

With a snap, Crowley cleaned them and teleported the tartan blanket from the sofa to cover them both. Aziraphale gave a satisfied sigh and nuzzled his chest in thanks. In moments, he was lost to the world. Crowley kept watching him, and did so through the night, unblinking, enjoying the sight of his trusting angel.

Crowley would be damned (again) if he was to let him wake up with him still in slumber. This time, he would remain awake and guard his angel. No nightmares, no anxiety would touch him, and if he woke distressed, Crowley would be there and not find him hours later, suffering in silence and loneliness.

## ***

Sunlight was slowly filtering through the windows, and Crowley was basking in it. The sensation of warmth on his back was so pleasant, as was the body snuggled against him. Aziraphale would wake up soon, Crowley could feel it. As promised, he had stood watch the whole night.

“What time is it?” mumbled the angel, his eyes still closed.

“We have an hour before opening time,” answered Crowley, “breakfast?”

“I’m famished.”

“Cocoa, fruits and those cookies you like so much?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s head and left his embrace, smiling fondly as the angel buried himself under the covers and into the carpet. It was only the third time Aziraphale slept, but every morning was the same; he was very reluctant to move, but when he did, he was suddenly a flurry of movements.

Stretching, Crowley almost snapped his fingers to get dressed, but his eyes landed on the pile of clothing next to them. On the clear blue shirt. He reached for it before fully understanding his own intent. It was as soft as it looked, having been worn so often. He pressed it to his nose, shivering as it caressed his naked form and immersed him in Aziraphale’s scent.

Crowley put it on and was engulfed by it. Perfect. He didn’t mind that one part was always sliding from a shoulder, nor the fact it was just shy of his thighs. It felt like his angel. He sauntered to the kitchenette and set to preparing coffee and cocoa, putting the biscuits and other promised food on a tray.

When he came back, Aziraphale was half dressed and looking for his shirt with a perplexed expression.

“Where on earth is it? I saw Crowley fold it… The rats know better than to steal fabric from me for their nests…”

Hands on his waist, Aziraphale glared at the carpet as if the poor thing had eaten it.

“Crowley, dear? Have you seen my shirt?” he called out, not having noticed Crowley was back.

“Right here,” replied Crowley, smirking.

Aziraphale turned to him, starting a sentence: “Ah, I didn’t hear… _Oh_.”

Crowley precariously held the tray with only one hand as he made room on the desk to place his burden. He could feel Aziraphale’s gaze on him.

“Mind giving that back?” requested the angel.

“But I’ll be cold.”

“It’s a bit big for you and a little short.”

“Should I assume you would rather have me naked, then? So soon?” he teased.

Crowley turned in time to see Aziraphale flush, and thought to himself that this time they wouldn’t wait days to partake. If it was up to Crowley, he would have Aziraphale again then and there. And the angel would let him. _That_ sent a spark of excitement through him.

“Very well, dearest. I will go get another one.”

On those words, Aziraphale went to him and kissed him softly before grabbing a few cookies and going to the hidden stairs which would take him to the small apartment above.

“Can you make sure the bed is free?” requested Crowley.

“You didn’t sleep?” inquired Aziraphale, surprised.

Crowley let silence speak for him. When Aziraphale came back, fully dressed, his expression was one of exasperated tenderness, but not managing to hide the glow of his contentment. Aziraphale had always wanted to be valued and had only received disinterest, or worse, scorn and disdain. Crowley remembered how the other angels had looked at him when he wore Aziraphale’s form.

Aziraphale sat down in his usual armchair, and Crowley decided to perch on his armrest, flinging his legs on his angel’s lap. He sipped his coffee as he watched Aziraphale eat, and allowed himself to be fed a few bites of food.

They both sighed as they heard Dalorian knock on the door to announce his arrival. It was time to open the library. After a long, tender kiss, Aziraphale went to greet Dalorian, and Crowley sauntered to the apartment to catch some sleep, still wearing his angel’s shirt.

When Crowley got up from his nap and went downstairs, he found the angel surrounded by people listening to him translate and explain a book in one of the restricted areas. This really had been a good idea. He slipped away and stumbled upon children obviously dragged and abandoned there.

If he settled with them and started reading them stories while making all the different voices, no one had to know. Not even the angel that caught him in the act and pretended he hadn’t seen anything.

## ***

Crowley was sprawled on his throne, one leg resting, boot included, on his desk. He was very invested in trolling people on the internet, and “bebop”, as Aziraphale would say, was playing in the room. It was how he had decided to use his “me time,” as they had chosen to call it.

A squeak made him raise his head. Minion climbed on him, running from his leg to his stomach and waiting there for some petting. Another rat was close behind, but stopped on his knee.

“Report,” ordered Crowley.

He listened carefully to the squeaks, groaning and nodding. His new scheme was turning out to be a complicated one. The more he learned, the harder it got.

“Damn it. A chapel?”

_Squeak_.

“Fuck. Can’t go into those.”

Bypassing this obstacle was going to be a pain. Quite literally. Unless… Unless he could get Aziraphale in on the plan. That was going to be tricky. He had never included the angel in his mischief before. Oh, doing the other’s job for the arrangement had been one thing, but joining Crowley in his elaborate schemes was another. But this one was totally up his alley, the cause was good.

He thanked his minion rat and sent him back to his brethren for the rest of the reckoning mission. He put Minion on his shoulder and went to find his angel. Aziraphale was, as usual, on the couch, wrapped in the horrid tartan blanket and reading Oscar Wilde. Crowley made a face, but didn’t comment.

Aziraphale didn’t lift his sight from his book. Crowley checked his watch, they still had five minutes of their “me time” left; even if the duration wasn’t agreed upon, it was unspoken that it was at least one hour. Crowley stretched belly-down on the carpet and pulled out his phone to tinker on it a bit more. Minion chose this moment to leave Crowley’s shoulder and rummage a bit on the low table before going back to his rat activities.

An orange was sitting, untouched, on a plate, with a knife. Crowley smirked and glanced at his angel. Oranges had been a food Aziraphale had discovered because of him. The angel loved them. Might be in the top five of his favourite fruits. _But_. But he hated peeling them, hated to be covered in juice, to have his fingers sticky and smelly, to risk zest getting on his clothes, and so on. So Crowley had taken the habit to peel them for him.

Now that he thought about it, that might have been the start of Aziraphale understanding the demon would do kind things for him. The angel had been bitching about oranges to Crowley and he had naturally taken it upon himself to peel the fruit for Aziraphale. Aziraphale had been flabbergasted and insanely pleased and had thanked him in earnest until Crowley had told him to shut it and shoved a totally free from the white, bitter stuff piece of orange in Aziraphale’s angelic mouth. Ever since, Aziraphale found ways to have Crowley do it for him. Not that he had to try very hard.

Fondly, Crowley reached for the orange and knife and started his work. Once he was done with a piece, he held it out to his angel, who took it with a hum of appreciation. Crowley smiled to himself; even if Aziraphale had pretended to be engrossed in his book, part of his attention had been on Crowley, and he was always aware of the demon’s presence.

“...Angel?”

Aziraphale lowered his book and frowned at him. Crowley stared unblinking, the hour was done, why was his angel bothered? Was his book trash? Had to be, it was from Wilde. (Who had flirted with Aziraphale so much, the angel had _noticed_.)

“No,” said Aziraphale.

“No?” repeated Crowley, surprised.

“Whatever it is you want, no,” replied Aziraphale in a voice that suggested no arguments withstood.

“I didn’t say anything!” protested Crowley.

Arms crossed on his chest, lips a thin line, blue eyes slightly squinting, Aziraphale gave him the “I know you are up to no good” look.

“I’m reading Oscar Wilde, and you didn’t comment,” the angel pointed out.

_Damn it. Too damn clever._

“Well, I didn’t feel like it,” groused Crowley.

“You always feel like criticizing Wilde, dearest.”

“‘ _You always feel like criticizing Wilde,_ ’” mimicked Crowley in a mocking tone.

Then, his golden eyes riveted to Aziraphale, Crowley ate the new piece of orange he had painstakingly peeled and freed of the white stuff. Aziraphale glared at him and Crowley levelled an unimpressed look at him and put another piece in his mouth.

“You fiend,” huffed Aziraphale.

“You started it.”

“I didn’t start anything, and you know it.”

Aziraphale held out his hand expectantly, and Crowley begrudgingly placed a piece of orange in it. Crowley was a patient man (demon). He hadn’t given up, he would get the angel to listen and agree to his plan. It was a familiar dance they hadn’t indulged in for a while, and Crowley looked forward to making Aziraphale reconsider and join him.

In silence, Crowley kept giving the pieces of orange to his angel, who had gone back to his book, presumably to finish his page. He put his snake bookmark in and closed the book. Crowley caught the title and hissed.

“Wilde’s letters to his lover?” he spat.

“Well, yes, I find them lovely, romantic, tastefully spicy, and so _tender_.”

A disgusted sound escaped Crowley. To think that wanker was one of Aziraphale's precious authors. Oh, the man had had his good sides, had been one hell of a rebel, and was surely in literal Hell for all his mischief. But Crowley couldn’t forgive him for courting Aziraphale, and even less for noticing Crowley’s feelings for said angel.

But Crowley had won, hadn’t he? He had Aziraphale’s love. He looked up as he gave the last piece of orange to Aziraphale, and noticed the bastard was all haughty, considering having won the argument. _That bastard._

Without a second thought, he grabbed the angel’s wrist and pulled. Aziraphale went down with a yelp and Crowley, fast as a snake, caught him before he touched the ground, wrapping his arms around him before kissing him silly.

Aziraphale pulled on Crowley’s hair in discontent at being manhandled like that, but ended up moaning and surrendering with a sigh of delight as Crowley slithered clever devious fingers under the layers of his clothes.

Crowley had been right, they weren’t going to wait to partake again.

## ***

“Do you like it, dearest?”

Crowley, hidden behind his usual shades, was slowly surveying the place. It was a restaurant. Specialized in pasta. Which was quite good according to the reviews. But what drove people here was the décor. Everything was covered in plants. Even the ground.

They had been asked to remove their shoes at the entrance, then to wash their feet before walking on soft moss. The table and chairs had their limbs placed on small floor-tiles so as to not destroy the environment.

“Terrific,” he replied at last.

He felt the heat of Aziraphale’s happiness at that and watched from the corner of his eyes the way he relaxed now that he felt assured his little surprise was well-received. The angel radiated joy, looking around cheerily and pointing to different plants, bringing Crowley’s attention to them.

“Figured that it might be pleasing for you to have plants to look at while I eat.”

Crowley’s head went immediately back to his angel. He rested his hand against Aziraphale’s, and smiled as the latter’s fingers moved to be on top of his.

“I appreciate the sentiment, angel, but watching you eat has always been one of my greatest pleasures,” he admitted.

Those words made Aziraphale flush, and he coyly avoided Crowley’s eyes. Crowley kept staring at him, unblinking. To think Aziraphale still had a hard time even imagining that his company could be pleasant, or that he was valued. Crowley never tired of proving it to him, as long as the angel needed him to. Gently, Crowley bracketed the angel’s legs and started gently rocking them between his own.

“Oh… this is lovely,” mentioned Aziraphale, his eyes shining in wonder.

He shifted his legs so they rested fully in Crowley’s embrace and followed his lead. Crowley scratched distractedly under his own jaw. _What a pleasure to be able to freely be together, to touch…_

Aziraphale smiled brightly at the waiter as she arrived, apologizing for the wait.

“No worries, dear, we have all the time in the world,” assured the angel.

A considering mumble made Crowley lean forward and open his mouth even before Aziraphale could request his opinion on his food. He received the spoonful and chewed carefully.

“Strange choice of spice, but it gives a most peculiar and original taste to the whole dish,” commented Crowley. 

“They are still able to surprise me,” laughed Aziraphale.

Crowley shrugged and kept rocking their legs together, resting his head on his hand as he watched Aziraphale eat. Crowley had barely touched his own food; a starter, not a main dish, even if it was rather good. As usual, he was keeping mostly to the wine.

And was slowly being distracted by the angry feelings washing over him from his left. Two bigots were whispering loudly about improper behaviour, but were blatantly ignoring the hetero couple literally sucking each other’s faces off close by. Crowley smirked at them and enjoyed the gasps of outrage. He lifted an eyebrow as they turned blue in the face. Crowley returned his attention to Aziraphale. The angel was toasting them and smiling contentedly as he shamelessly laced his fingers with Crowley’s. _The bastard was riling them up._ Fuck, how he loved that side of Aziraphale.

“Careful, angel, they might end up approaching us,” he warned with a grin in his voice.

“No risk, they don’t have the guts and, _oh, look_ , here comes the waiter with their bill.”

There was a small scandal as the man couldn't manage to pay with his credit card, then the woman tried and failed too. The man had to run out to the closest ATM and leave his companion all red-faced and mortified. At last, they left, flustered and ashamed, and Crowley heard the woman swear as she stepped into poo at the entrance. He laughed silently and turned back to Aziraphale, only to see him looking smug and waiting for Crowley before starting on dessert.

“You _didn’t_!” he exclaimed gleefully.

“What are you referring to, dearest?”

He was looking the picture of innocence.

“You _did_ ,” Crowley deadpanned.

Crowley turned to the waiter, grabbing her attention with a wave and ordered a dessert, the one Aziraphale had been hesitating with. Then he resumed the rocking of their legs as Aziraphale smiled at him, crinkles at the corner of his eyes. In private, Crowley was going to kiss them.

“I was thinking we could watch a movie tonight,” proposed Crowley.

“A moving picture?”

“Yeah, at home.”

Fingers grabbed his hand and Crowley was taken aback by the sudden moisture in his angel’s eyes. _What had he said? It was a good kind of shine, right? He was smiling. Right. What had he said?_

“Alright, dearest, we can even watch one of your James Bond if you wish.”

Crowley’s mouth opened without his agreement. What the fuck had he said? He had proposed a movie. Tonight. At his place… _oh… Not_ at _his_ place. 

“Let’s go _home_ , Crowley.”

_Oh_.

“Ngk.”

_Yeah, fuck, shit._ Crowley heard it now, the power in that simple word. Following the motions on autopilot, he rose from the table, paid, gave a tip, offered his arm to his radiant angel, held his hand, opened the restaurant door for him, then the Bentley’s, drove almost not too fast, held another door and an elevator. The flat opened for Aziraphale on its own, with just a touch of his hand, not even a miracle. Crowley patted his door.

“Where do you want to watch the... motion picture?” asked Aziraphale.

“ _Movie_ , angel, movie. In bed?”

Crowley watched him take off his coat and hang it in the corridor. Humming gently, Aziraphale went to the bedroom, his fingers trailing softly on the plants allowed outside the plant room.

“Very well, I’ll put on pyjamas, then.”

It was so… _domesticated_. Crowley snapped his fingers so the TV could teleport itself into their room. _Their_ room.

“I’ll go make popcorn,” he announced.

“I promise not to chew during the talking!” answered Aziraphale.

_That_ had been one of Crowley’s and it had come back to bite him in the ass, as usual. But it only served to prove he had been right in the idea. The potential to inspire bloody murder of those white fluffy things never ceased to impress him.

He entered the room to find Aziraphale already in bed, propped up by the cushions and gently petting Minion. He stared, unblinking, tray in hand, with both sweet and salted popcorn, coffee, tea and some Belgium chocolate. He jumped a little as he felt the bracelet at his wrist warm up. In his hurry to reply to the touch, he almost dropped the tray and grumbled as Aziraphale laughed.

With a pat as his invitation, Aziraphale opened the covers welcomingly, and Crowley gave him the tray with a kiss before going to push a James Bond DVD in the player. Only then did he slither in the bed and settle next to his angel, their legs intimately pressed together. As he pondered if he should or shouldn't drape his arm across Aziraphale’s shoulders, he nearly had a heart attack as the angel rested his head on the demon’s bony shoulder.

“I read the books, you know,” mentioned Aziraphale as the credits started.

“Figured. Chose one that isn’t an adaptation.”

Crowley yelped as Aziraphale pinched him.

“I didn’t say anything!” he protested.

Aziraphale levelled an unimpressed pout at him.

“I could hear you think. You didn’t want me to be able to complain about the disparities between the book and moving picture.”

“Was I wrong?” replied Crowley.

“...No.” 

Crowley opened his mouth and closed it as the movie started. Truth be told, he watched his angel more than the movie. He had seen it already, numerous times. But he had never seen Aziraphale’s reactions to it. And the angel, as usual, _lived_ things, his face betraying all his emotions and opinions.

“Crowley, stop that, I know when something is going to happen because you drill holes in my face each time,” complained Aziraphale half-heartedly.

Crowley gave him a kiss as an apology and the bowl of popcorn, but kept doing it, unable to stop himself. The credits rolled, Aziraphale watching them till the end, out of respect for all the humans who had made the movie.

“Soooo... what did you think of it?”

“It was a bit much, don’t you think? And sort of senseless. So showy; isn’t he supposed to be discreet? And the way he treats women is _appalling_.”

With a groan, Crowley let himself fall backwards into the nest of cushions. Trust his angel to get all _critical_!

“He’s so _cool_!” he argued.

“I beg to differ.”

Like a jack-in-the-box springing out, Crowley was sitting up again, gesticulating as he explained how “Bond, _James_ Bond,” was the coolest ever! And how _dare_ Aziraphale think otherwise? In the middle of his rant, Aziraphale interrupted and killed him in one single sentence:

“You are much cooler.”

“How dare you imply that--wait… what?”

Aziraphale huffed.

“Your plans are well-constructed, thought-out and discreet, not all those showy things. Half of what happens to Bond is his own fault or a direct result of his lack of interest for his so-called ‘partners’. You are so clever in your... machinations and you would never treat me the way he does his sidekicks.”

Golden eyes blinked.

“I’m cooler than James Bond,” repeated Crowley.

If Aziraphale had planned to add anything, he couldn’t, suddenly overwhelmed by a lap full of a demon kissing him passionately. In seconds, the covers had been kicked off, and Crowley had hoisted up Aziraphale’s nightgown, trailing feverish fingers on his skin.

“Hmmm, are we going to finally do this in a bed like civilized people?” remarked Aziraphale.

They had been doing the horizontal tango for a bit now. And never managed to end up, or initiate, in a bed until now.

“There’s nothing civilized to what I’m about to do to you, angel,” growled Crowley.

On those words, Aziraphale was dragged forward, extracted from the cushions and pressed on the mattress as he was kissed silly. Crowley was already rocking between his legs, his hands raking over Aziraphale’s body, grabbing and unable to decide where to rest.

That was when Crowley gave a startled yelp that turned into a long groan of pleasure as he was grabbed by his hair, his head pulled back in a way that was just shy of hurting.

“Oh, _no_ , Crowley, Anthony _J._ Crowley, I shall _not_ be a submissive conquest.”

As easily as flipping a crêpe, Aziraphale switched their positions: Crowley flat on his back with the angel straddling his hips.

“You are not a conquest,” assured Crowley, not resisting.

A gentle kiss was bestowed upon him as fingers expertly unbuttoned his pyjamas. Aziraphale took his time undressing Crowley, gazed at his revealed skin, caressed every inch of it as it was uncovered. Crowley wanted to cry under that loving attention, that freely unashamed adoration. 

“You are beautiful,” murmured Aziraphale as Crowley lay underneath him.

Crowley groaned at that, hoping it sounded like an aggravated one, but knew at Aziraphale’s haughty look, he had been found out. Thick fingers trailed on his skin, feather-like, stopping at each freckle. Once, Aziraphale had commented that it looked like stars scattered on his body. Crowley had cried. 

“And not just your body, dearest, what’s inside, too.”

“Ssssstop it.”

“You agreed to work on accepting compliments,” reminded Aziraphale.

Crowley couldn’t argue with that. He had been pushing the angel. It had been a matter of time for Aziraphale to start doing the same.

“You are clever.”

A kiss on his throat. A caress on his hair.

“You are ingenious.”

A kiss on a perked nipple. A caress on his ribs.

“You are imaginative.”

A kiss on his stomach. A caress on his bottom.

“You are kind.”

A kiss on his hip, then a bite as he growled at being called kind. He still had a hard time with that.

“You are _loved_.”

Crowley whimpered at that, and Aziraphale caught his gaze and said it again. As Crowley was distracted by hands gently brushing over his sides, his torso, his legs, and by Aziraphale’s words of praise, he closed his eyes. That was why he was completely taken by surprise as the angel closed his mouth on Crowley’s erected flesh.

“Oh, _fuck_!”

He gripped the sheets for dear life as he stopped his hips from jerking up. And _fuck_ , did those ice creams and popsicles serve to train Aziraphale. A few minutes later, Aziraphale was freeing him, watching him pant and relax now that he didn’t have to control himself.

“So kind,” Aziraphale cooed.

How much did Aziraphale understand of Crowley? _Everything_ , he was tempted to think, but knew better. One couldn’t know another _that_ well. But Aziraphale came close.

“Only for you,” Crowley gasped.

He then regretted it as Aziraphale had only just taken him back into his mouth and was now leaving him again.

“Lies.”

“Yes, I’m a dirty, lying fiend,” agreed Crowley, lifting his hips in a silent plea.

Aziraphale tutted and rose fully, watching Crowley severely and making him groan in frustration.

“Don’t make me force you to compliment yourself,” he threatened.

Crowley froze. The angel was totally serious. _Oh, for fuck’s sake._ He nodded. The soft fingers were still roaming freely on his feverish body, not teasing, just enjoying mapping him.

“Now _do_ shut up, dearest, I’ve been wanting to give you head for ages.”

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._ Crowley hid his burning face behind his hands. How ironic that he, the demon, was the one hiding when the angel had been totally unashamed since the beginning? And did he mean “ages” literally, or was he using an expression? And…

“ _FUCK! NGK!_ ”

As if his hot, moist mouth wasn’t enough to get Crowley crazy, the angel had now added tongue and a hint of teeth. Certainly not voluntarily for the teeth, but damn it if it didn’t feel wonderful. Aziraphale lacked expertise, but really made up for it in his enthusiasm. Crowley was panting, and tried his best to limit his wriggling and the instinctive rise of his hips. As Aziraphale found a rhythm and managed to take more of him, it became complicated.

Shaking, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands, that rested on his sides, unmoving now that he was concentrating on his task, and guided them to his hips, pressing them here as a hint that the angel needed to restrain him.

Blue eyes lifted to his face, and Crowley nearly came from the erotic sight it displayed. He jerked up, and Aziraphale choked a bit in surprise.

“S… sorry,” moaned Crowley.

Aziraphale lowered his gaze and moved his hands back to their former place. Crowley tried to place them again to his hips, but met resistance. He gulped as he understood. _That bastard._ Aziraphale wanted _him_ to control himself. Just like the angel had enjoyed, during their first time, making Crowley stop in the middle of it, just to demonstrate Crowley would never hurt him. Aziraphale enjoyed tremendously proving Crowley was kind and caring.

The rest of his thoughts drowned in the duck pond as Aziraphale resumed his ministrations with his usual eagerness and clumsiness. Pleasure and the need to control himself were at war inside him, the latter stoking the flame of the other. Aziraphale had started to hum his appreciation and Crowley was losing it.

“An… angel,” he warned.

Crowley gave a shout of utter disbelieving frustration and dismay as Aziraphale’s lips left him with a last lick to his leaking flesh. Aziraphale then climbed back on him, settling on his hips, his deliciously soft bottom nestling against Crowley’s member.

“Prepare me,” he instructed.

“Wh…what?” mumbled Crowley.

He was still a little out of it, having been so close to orgasm and been denied. Aziraphale made a displeased sound, grabbed Crowley’s hand, snapped, coating Crowley’s fingers in lube, and pressed one at his entrance.

Seeing as Crowley still wasn’t reacting, too flabbergasted, Aziraphale, who sometimes lacked patience, simply impaled himself on two of Crowley’s fingers. The angel then lowered himself forward, pressing his erected flesh to Crowley’s stomach and was now rocking up and down to get more friction and push Crowley’s fingers in and out. His grip on Crowley’s wrist lessened as, finally, Crowley took it upon himself to act.

The angel laid fully against him as Crowley prepared him. He buried one hand in red hair, scratching gently, and the other under Crowley, grabbing his ass. Aziraphale rocked with abandon, meeting his fingers, and rubbing himself in wanton recklessness.

As Crowley added a third finger, Aziraphale let him prepare him a few moments more, then pushed him away. Trembling in anticipation, Crowley snapped his fingers to clean his hand and simultaneously coated his member. Right on time as Aziraphale grabbed him, placed him at his entrance, and lowered himself gradually without missing a beat.

“Aziraphale,” panted Crowley.

The angel grabbed Crowley’s flanks and started riding him in earnest, gasping and moaning in pleasure. Crowley shakily reached to wrap his fingers around Aziraphale and was gently pushed away.

“No.”

Aziraphale stopped moving, resting, fully impaled on Crowley, and panting in exertion. Crowley whined at the sight and the loss, jerking his hips up and being rewarded by a delighted moan.

“It will end too soon if you touch me,” explained Aziraphale.

_The discorporation of him. That’s what the angel was going to be._ Crowley bit his lips to get back a bit of control and a hand immediately started petting his hair. They were both breathing heavily and smiling giddily at each other.

“Be a dear and help me move, this is exhausting,” complained Aziraphale.

Still in a demanding mood, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s wrists and placed his hands on Aziraphale’s ass, hinting, not subtly at all, at what he wanted the demon to do. Crowley obliged, as usual, and lent Aziraphale his strength as the angel rose up then down. Crowley also started meeting him by thrusting his hips. Aziraphale was back to taking support on Crowley’s chest, lifting himself and slamming back down with abandon and maddening cries.

They kept that up a long time, resting a bit, then starting again, getting so close, but never quite reaching the tipping point. Aziraphale was clenching around him in a way that had to be deliberate, and Crowley struggled not to come undone.

“Is… is it good for you?” asked Aziraphale as they panted together in one of their short breaks to gather back their strength.

“Yes, angel, you’re driving me crazy,” replied Crowley, rubbing his thumbs on Aziraphale’s hips.

His angel hummed and started gyrating and rocking and Crowley bit his lip and closed his eyes in the sudden assault of his senses.

“Then, why… why can’t I bring you to completion?” Aziraphale timidly wondered.

_Oh. Oh, his precious angel._ Crowley grabbed him, forcing Aziraphale to stop moving for a bit. It was already agony to be deep inside him. Crowley needed to have at least a bit of brain power for this conversation.

“I’m resisting,” he explained.

Aziraphale gave him a look so dejected that Crowley almost laughed.

“Why?” exclaimed Aziraphale, insulted.

“I don’t want to come before you. Only with you or following you.”

“Oh… But you’re always focusing on _my_ pleasure… I wanted to…”

“It’s like watching you eat, angel; my pleasure derives from yours.”

Tears gathered in those blue eyes, and Crowley tried to sit up, only managing to make them both groan in bliss. They really knew how to choose their moment to have a heart to heart, huh? With a bit of wriggling and fumbling, Crowley managed to sit, still buried deep in Aziraphale, who seemed all the more reluctant to let him go. They took a moment to catch their breath again, pleasure thrumming inside them. The angel was now clinging to Crowley, pressed flush together, his arms wrapped around Crowley’s back, fingers gripping his shoulders and his face hidden in the crook of Crowley’s neck.

“Let’s come together and talk after?” proposed Crowley.

He peppered kisses on the fluffy white hair, his hands trailing over that soft back. He felt the nod, then lips closing on his neck. Aziraphale had started moving again, up and down, and Crowley met his movements. He snaked a hand between them and took Aziraphale in hand.

“I’m so close, angel.”

It took only a few more desperate joinings of their bodies and strokes for the both of them to orgasm. Gently, Crowley pulled out and laid Aziraphale on the bed, snapping to clean them both, then nuzzling against his angel. Crowley brought a manicured hand to his lips, kissing it lovingly.

“You ended up taking charge again,” sighed Aziraphale.

“No, you’re always totally in control when we do it,” assured Crowley.

Aziraphale smiled at him.

“You know that’s not what I meant, dearest.” 

Reminders never hurt. Crowley knew Aziraphale needed to let go, to surrender completely. He was always so wound up, that finally allowing himself to submit was freeing. Crowley enjoyed being the one to bring that to him, to be trusted that much.

“I swear to you that lavishing you with pleasure brings me just as much enjoyment, if not more.”

“...You would tell me if you wanted something else, right?”

“Of course, angel. I don’t hide things from you, you know that.”

A pause, then a careful nod. Crowley smiled and kissed him. Crowley had never hid his feelings for Aziraphale. Certainly never pushed or asked, but never hid. He was the one that had pestered the angel until they had the arrangement, he was usually the one requesting things. He wasn’t always direct in his demands and needs, but he never _concealed_ them.

Aziraphale was the one doing that. All the time. The only things the angel allowed himself to ask for were tokens (and he didn’t really _ask_ for them; he made Crowley understand).

“Tell me, angel, why didn’t you try to top?” he asked.

A blink, then a flush, then a pout. Crowley felt a slow smirk spread across his face. It hadn’t even crossed Aziraphale’s mind! The angel had taken control to bring pleasure to Crowley, but hadn’t thought for one moment to be the one to top. Oh, fuck, he loved him so damn much. His giving angel that didn’t even notice his desires and his tendency to, well, offer himself. 

“...Do you want me to?” wondered Aziraphale.

He had started playing with the corner of a pillow since he had no clothes to adjust. Crowley pondered the question. He had always known Aziraphale was a bottom through and through. He was himself a switch, but, as he had told the angel, he took his pleasure from Aziraphale’s. Always had.

“...Not particularly, no.”

“You will tell me if that changes.”

Not a request, but an order. _Who said people couldn’t top from the bottom?_

“Yes, angel.”

Crowley scooted even closer, draping himself on his angel and nestling his face in the other’s neck. He was sleepy. He felt the miracle that clothed them both (and valiantly resisted teasing the angel), and put on the now usual sleeping mask. Then he felt Aziraphale reach for his book and open it to read. He drifted to sleep with fingers in his hair and the comforting sound of pages being turned. 

Morning found Crowley lying on his stomach, on Aziraphale’s legs, his face nuzzled at its usual place, the junction of waist and thigh. His arms were wrapped around his angel’s middle (who was in a sitting position), one hand cupping an ass cheek. If Crowley had been human and known a bit more about spines, he would have been cursing himself for sleeping in such a position. As it was, he felt perfectly content.

The covers were gathered around him, covering even his head, but, as per habit, one of Aziraphale’s hands was trailing deliciously in his hair and on his nape. He nipped the ample stomach above him and received a chuckle.

“Slept well, dearest?”

“Like in an angel’s embrace,” teased Crowley.

Aziraphale closed his book with a sharp snap and looked down at him with furrowed brows. The twinkle in his blue eyes belied any seriousness.

“Who dares? Tell me who I shall challenge and slay for your affection!”

Crowley rolled his eyes in fondness and braced himself on Aziraphale’s thighs to reach his jaw and pepper it in kisses. 

“Ah, but you see he would not fight you, he is no warrior, and it is not his feats of the sword that stole my heart, but his kindness.”

“Alas, then! I shall-- _mmmffff_!”

Any words he might have said had been swallowed by Crowley kissing him deeply, slowly mapping Aziraphale’s mouth with his tongue, gently dancing with his. They parted only to better kiss again. Crowley, already between Aziraphale’s spread legs, grabbed his thighs and hoisted him up on his lap to better kiss him.

Leaving reddened lips, he pecked his angel’s nose, then went back to lavishing more nips and kisses on his jaw and throat, enjoying how Aziraphale, abandoned in their nests of cushions, offered his neck.

“You are hard, dearest,” mentioned Aziraphale.

Boldly, his angel wrapped his fingers around Crowley’s member, freeing him from his loose pants, feeling him pulse in his grip.

“If I could, I would have you every minute of every day on every available surface,” groaned Crowley.

He grabbed that brash hand and laced their fingers together as he trapped it at Aziraphale’s side. Clever fingers pulled on his hair in answer and Crowley whined.

“What’s stopping you? Certainly not me.”

“ _NGK_!”

With that as his permission, Crowley slid his arms under Aziraphale’s legs, bending him, and grabbed a handful of his angel’s ass. He nudged against his entrance and trembled to feel it ready to receive him, twitching and opening at even a slight press. He had planned to rub against it, to prepare Aziraphale, but…

“Can I?” he asked, strangled.

Aziraphale grabbed his nape with one hand, lowering Crowley to him, the other, as always, tangled in Crowley’s hair, and pressed his lips to the demon’s ear.

“Yes,” he murmured.

Aziraphale’s breath was hot, teasing, and the small lick he gave to the shell of Crowley’s ear made the demon moan in want. Unhurriedly, he pressed at Aziraphale’s entrance and was welcomed in his heat, the ring of muscle barely offering any resistance. Inch by inch, he entered him, sliding in with ease, Aziraphale’s insides clutching him and seeming to drag him in. His angel had thrown his head back, a long, broken moan of pleasure escaping him.

“You love it… being penetrated.”

“Y…yes.” 

Crowley gently pulled out and felt Aziraphale’s legs tense, intending to close around his hips to prevent him from doing so, then a disgruntled whimper as his angel remembered his legs were currently thrown on Crowley’s shoulders, powerless to encourage him back inside.

Fondly, Crowley kissed pouting lips and after rubbing a few times between those delicious ass cheeks, he pushed back inside languidly.

“ _Hnnn_ ,” whined his angel.

Once deep inside, he gave a small thrust, then pulled out again, completely. Only to slide back inside with that agonizing slowness. Again and again and again.

“ _Oooh…_ yes, yes, Crowley,” moaned Aziraphale.

Crowley couldn’t take his eyes away from the pleasure painted on Aziraphale’s face, the way his lips parted as gasps, moans and little cries escaped him. His hair, tousled and clinging to his brow. The flush of his cheeks. His eyes, half-closed and far away. The way his body trembled and shuddered, writhed underneath, pliant and offered.

Crowley kept rubbing outside him, then taking him, profound and slow, pulling out again so Aziraphale could feel him push back inside, welcome him with desperate gasps, cry out as he thrusted as deep as he could, gyrating his hips a bit, then escaping again.

It was getting harder to leave that tight, welcoming warmth, and the jerks of his hips were getting more demanding each time.

“M…more,” sobbed Aziraphale.

He blinked his blue eyes, focusing them on Crowley. Then his hands, still at Crowley’s nape and in his hair, barely clinging there, descended along Crowley’s spine, to the dips of his lower back, leaving feverish trails as Aziraphale’s nails gently scratched. As Crowley entered him again and pressed deep, Aziraphale closed his hands on Crowley’s buttocks and pushed him even deeper. And kept him buried there. 

“Fuck,” groaned Crowley.

He could feel Aziraphale’s manicured nails digging into his skin, the angel’s strength barely allowing him to move. So he did as his angel wanted, jerking his hips up, gyrating and thrusting as deep as he could.

“Ah… _aah_! More! _Aaaahnn_...”

Crowley wrapped his angel in his arms, holding him tightly as he rocked into him. He could feel Aziraphale shake under him, his leaking flesh trapped between his own belly and Crowley’s flat stomach, creating delicious friction.

“Yes… y…yes… j…just like that… Crowley… ”

Aziraphale’s hands were still encouraging him, demanding and desperate. And Crowley obliged, eager to please, unwilling to refuse his angel anything. He held back his own pleasure as he felt Aziraphale’s grow. Not the almost painful one, fast and hard like lightning, but the one that came slow, in waves, embracing the body in delicious sensual delight. 

“Oh, Crowley… feels so good… Crowley…”

“My angel, my precious angel,” answered Crowley, “keep saying my name, angel.”

“Cro…Crowley…” moaned Aziraphale.

One hand had left his buttocks to trail lovingly in his hair again. Crowley kept rocking up, moulded to Aziraphale. Even if Crowley wanted to keep watching Aziraphale's expressions, he couldn’t anymore, and nuzzled his face in the angel’s neck, groaning there as Aziraphale sighed his name over and over again like a mantra.

“I love you,” confessed Crowley.

And just like that, Aziraphale shuddered underneath him, giving a long pleasure-filled sigh of ecstasy as he released between them, his toes curling as his body tensed, then relaxed as warmth spread in his whole being, tingling deliciously. 

“I love you, I love you so much, my angel,” Crowley swore, voice strangled by emotion, his face still hidden in Aziraphale’s shoulder.

With a few more erratic pushes from his hips, he orgasmed, releasing his seed deep inside. He felt Aziraphale moan and clench around him. They stilled, but for Aziraphale’s hands, always stroking his hair and nape.

“I love you, Crowley, my dearest Crowley, I love you.”

Crowley tried to move away, retreat, but strong, unrelenting hands kept him in place, as well as legs, Aziraphale having unhooked them from his shoulders to wrap them around Crowley, tangling them with his own.

“Stay, Crowley, my Crowley.”

Crowley clung to him harder, gripping onto him for dear life. And he allowed himself to stay buried in that welcoming heat, as Aziraphale had wanted him to from the start, as he had himself yearned from the beginning. He could… he was allowed… he was welcomed in Aziraphale’s embrace, desired even. _Loved_. A wretched sob escaped him. He hadn’t… he couldn’t believe his luck, hadn’t dared hope to receive so much, to one day be held like that. _Loved_ like that. _Wanted_ like that. More sobs escaped him.

“Oh, dearest, shhh, Crowley, I love you.”

“My angel.”

Aziraphale’s hands were petting him, stroking him, caressing his back. Aziraphale covered the demon’s head in kisses and nuzzled his nose in the wave of red hair.

“Yes, Crowley, your angel, I am yours, always, dearest.”

At last, Crowley lifted his tear-stained face and captured Aziraphale’s mouth in a gentle kiss before snuggling against him again. They stayed like that until Crowley calmed down, satiated with affection and pampering. By that time, he had grown hard again inside Aziraphale, and with one of his wicked grins, set to take him apart again, with torturous slowness.

And Aziraphale let him. Because he was his to pleasure, to cherish, to protect, to love. 

## ***

Tuesday had become a rather intense day for them. In the early afternoon, they had dancing lessons, Aziraphale having a blast each time and being the literal mascot of the group, the teachers smitten with him and his knowledge of the dance. Crowley was almost jealous, if it wasn’t for the utter delight that shone from his angel and the adoration and gushing he received during the lessons.

Then they went back to the library and Crowley was requisitioned to read to children. Or rather, forced. He hadn’t agreed to that. _Never_. And no, being caught red-handed, multiple times, reading and doing voices to amazed children most certainly did _not_ count as agreement, thank you very much!

_Bloody bastardly angels and their kisses and soft pleading eyes._

The discussion didn’t even deserve to be called a discussion.

“More and more children are coming lately, it would be nice to have a reading day for the youngest ones,” had suggested that terrible person that was Lilly.

“Oh, what a lovely idea!” Aziraphale had gushed, stars in blue eyes that were already seeking out Crowley.

_No_ , Crowley had _not_ just been reading to a bunch of children. _No_ , he had _not_ just woken up from a nap with said children. That was all _lies_. Lies and slander. What he _had_ been doing was opening his mouth to make a funny and witty remark and kill the idea in the egg. Aziraphale had taken one look at his face, gotten that haughty expression of his, the “do you have _one_ single better idea?” one, and said:

“Crowley will read to them on Tuesday.”

Crowley had protested vehemently with constructed arguments: “What? _Nnng_? No!”

And had been ignored.

“It’s settled, then,” assured Aziraphale.

He had bestowed on Crowley that adoring, smitten look of his, kissed him on the lips, and caressed his cheek with the back of his hand. And truly, how was Crowley supposed to resist that? He had never been good at refusing the angel anything. And no, Crowley absolutely wasn’t, deep down, secretly very glad to be able to interact with a bunch of hellions.

And he wasn’t currently making sure the little alcove they had chosen for their reading sessions was perfectly safe, full of soft plush cushions and installed so that all the children could rest and listen peacefully to him. He was a _demon_.

“Crowley!” screamed Nathan as he threw himself at Crowley, clinging to his leg.

“No fair! I wanna hug Mister Crowley, too!” cried Natasha.

“Don’t yell, Mister Zira will get upset again,” pleaded Antoine. 

The other two children that made up Crowley’s Tuesday group were clever little buggers, already placing themselves in the best spots: at each side of Crowley’s reserved cushions.

“Alright, pests,” started Crowley.

He waited until the chortle of amused giggles died down before continuing.

“All hands are clean?”

“Yes!”

They showed him their hands for inspection, which Crowley didn’t do, because he had established early that he tolerated no lies and trusted them.

“Why do we keep our hands clean?” he asked.

Nathan was relatively new to the group, and repetition was the key to learn. The children had to understand why they did things, so they could question them.

“To stay healthy!”

“To not damage books!”

“Good. Questions?” asked Crowley.

“Will Zira bring us a candy that we promise to eat whole and not get out of our mouth and on his books or to put fingers in our mouth and then on his books?”

“Who knows.”

Crowley settled at his designated spot and pulled out the book he had decided to read today. _Red_ by Michael Hall, the story of a crayon mistakenly labelled red and his identity crisis and fight to find himself and be accepted as a blue crayon(1).

Just as he was about to start, Aziraphale poked his head into the alcove, and, seeing he wasn’t interrupting, came to them, giving a candy to each kid and a coffee to Crowley.

“Thanks, angel.”

Aziraphale bent to him and kissed him on the mouth before retreating. The children all showed Crowley they had eaten the candy in one bite and still had clean hands. Nathan kept his candy in its wrapper. Crowley started to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do feed your author with reviews lol ;)   
> Thank you again to those who took the time ! And those who left kudos ! 
> 
> (1) https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22249668-red


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to HolRose, Jewely, foxtamer113, elf_on_the_shelf and Starlight_fallen for the review on last chapter :) 
> 
> Thanks to all the people who left kudos :) 
> 
> This is the last chapter Betaed by the lovely https://shes-beauty-and-shes-grace7.tumblr.com, thank you again for stepping in when I was desperate to find a Beta and thank you for your hard work !

Tonight, Aziraphale had announced that he had decided he would try to sleep. Until now, he had only slept after being mentally exhausted or having his brain fucked out. Crowley was very proud of the last one.

Already clad in his dark pyjamas, Crowley was observing his angel with a mixture of amusement, fondness, and utter consternation. The angel was giddy, anxious, and charged like an electric battery. Entirely _not_ the mood needed to get to sleep. Crowley could picture the disaster in the making. Aziraphale was so excited, he babbled nonstop as he went over the list (yes, he had made a list. Crowley loved that fool to pieces) of bedtime rituals he wanted to implement.

“You should add a bath to that list, it’ll help you relax,” mentioned Crowley.

Aziraphale glared at him, perfectly aware that Crowley was pushing his own agenda on him. Crowley was a persistent demon.

“Hush, dearest.”

Crowley bonelessly settled on the sofa, limbs thrown around haphazardly, but not touching his fretful angel. He wondered if he would get a static discharge if he tried. The urge to poke Aziraphale to get the answer was almost too strong to resist. He refrained, out of love.

“I need to decide before 9:30pm what to do.”

The hour had been a subject of tension. Aziraphale wanted to go to bed at 8pm. Crowley had vehemently refused that bedtime, arguing that it was for children. Now that they had almost six hours because of the library, Crowley wouldn’t let their time alone together be reduced. After a healthy debate, that had switched to duck’s bedtime for an unknown reason, they had reached a consensus of 9:30pm.

“Angel, you can improve your ritual later,” Crowley tried reassuring.

Aziraphale huffed and continued to get his knickers in a twist, or rather, his bowtie and waistcoat, since changing to pyjamas was going to be a part of the ritual. Crowley rolled his eyes and slithered to Aziraphale, taking the angel's hands in his, and being almost disappointed not to be electrocuted, and kissed them gently.

“Angel, you need to be calm to sleep, you know that, right?”

“But it is so exciting! It’s one of those human things that I find so fascinating!” argued Aziraphale.

To think most humans didn’t use a _ritual_ to go to sleep… but Crowley wasn’t going to point that out to his fussy angel.

“You want me to preen your wings?” proposed Crowley.

Their scheduled grooming of each other’s wings wasn’t for a few years. Crowley wasn’t against changing the pace and doing it more often. He loved burying his fingers in the soft feathers of his angel, helping him get all tidy, because Aziraphale’s wings were a mess, a disaster, a _crime_.

“Oh…”

And visibly, Aziraphale enjoyed that, too. Maybe a bit too much, which would explain why he had refused Crowley the pleasure. A flush had coloured Aziraphale’s cheeks, and he was biting his lower lip as he considered the offer, obviously very tempted by it. Crowley wanted to lay him on the floor and have his wicked way with him. They did it every day, sometimes more, enjoying this new thing between them, partaking as new lovers tended to do.

“No, dearest, as lovely as that idea is, it can’t be added to the ritual.”

Because that meant he would have to do it each and every single time Aziraphale decided to sleep.

“I wouldn’t mind,” assured Crowley.

Pleased wrinkles appeared at Aziraphale’s eyes and he reached for Crowley, kissing his brow, then his lips tenderly. Seeming to have finally decided, the angel patted his own legs and stood up, ready to start.

“First, chamomile infusion,” he declared.

Crowley shuffled behind him, watching him. Manicured hands filled the kettle with water, took the box with the chamomile flowers, then withdrew the advised amount, tapping the small spoon a bit to have _just_ the right quantity. Then he grabbed his angel cup, put on the filter, and waited for the water to reach optimal temperature as he hummed a hymn. He poured it slowly, then placed the cup and a small plate on a tray and brought everything to his bedside table.

“No chocolate to go with it?” wondered Crowley, still trailing behind the angel.

“No, dearest, no food before bed, it's bad for digestion.”

The bathroom door remaining open, Crowley decided he could follow and leaned at the entrance to observe. Aziraphale took a toothbrush, put toothpaste on it, and started brushing his teeth.

He turned to the small chair at the side of the sink where his nightdress waited, and started undressing in precise order and movements. Crowley gulped, unblinkingly enjoying the view, the simple intimacy. He wasn’t going to disturb his angel’s ritual by initiating anything; this nudity wasn’t sexual, it was trust. However, he allowed himself the pleasure of adjusting the nightgown and got a peck for his help.

Aziraphale wasn’t done, he took a bottle labeled “rose water skin cleanser” and rubbed some on his face, followed by some hydrating cream he lathered on his visage, neck and hands. Satisfied, he went back to the bedroom, removed the filter, and placed it on the plate, dipped his lips in his infusion, checking its temperature and, seeming pleased, it was still too hot to drink easily.

“Crowley, dear, can you get me the paper I forgot on the low table?” he requested. 

Crowley obliged, and, with utter fascination, watched his beloved, plump, not remotely athletic angel, start stretching by following the drawings on a photocopied page from a certainly outdated book. After five minutes of those, he finally went to bed, adjusted his cushions, pulled the covers and slid inside, back propped up. Crowley slithered in, too, lying on his side, head resting in his hands as he continued to observe his angel. He was now sipping his chamomile with hums of contentment, eyes half-closed as he savoured the taste, the pleasing sensation of warmth. With a satisfied smack of his lips, he placed his finished cup on the tray.

Aziraphale wriggled inside the covers, pushing all the unnecessary cushions to the side. He turned to Crowley and blinked lazily. Entranced like the snake by the flute of his charmer, Crowley slid more fully in the bed, resting his head on his cushion, but still unable to stop looking at his angel. Aziraphale smiled at him and grabbed a book from his side of the bed.

“Do you mind, dearest?”

“No, no, you can read, angel.”

“That’s not what I had in mind…”

The book was pushed toward him. _Poetry_. Aziraphale wanted Crowley to read him poetry before bed? Between the two of them, Crowley was the romantic, even if you would need to pry that information from him by torture. His demon heart skipped a beat at the realization he was a part of his angel’s ritual for sleeping. The last part.

“ _Ngk_.”

Understanding that for the “yes” it was, Aziraphale snuggled up to him, pressing his body along the demon’s. He placed his head on Crowley’s chest, buried a hand in red hair, the other one looping around Crowley’s waist, one leg tangled between Crowley’s. 

In turn, Crowley slid the fingers of his free hand in white curls and started petting as he began to read out loud to his angel. Four poems later, Aziraphale was asleep. Crowley briefly considered joining him, but decided he would keep watch instead.

## ***

Crowley was home alone while Aziraphale dealt with the library. As usual, he took this opportunity to remind his plants that he was still very much a demanding and severe master and that no leaf should step out of line.

Strangely, he never did his reminders and yelling when the angel was around. Oh, Aziraphale knew how he treated his plants, and didn’t approve, of course, but he had never witnessed the extent of Crowley’s… _peculiar_ brand of gardening.

Today had been particularly productive. Crowley had taken the Bentley on a hunt for every plant nursery around London and its suburbs to find decent aromatic plants and fruits and vegetables that could grow in an apartment. He had carefully selected the best ones and was still working on installing them in their new home.

“Here’s the deal, newbies.”

He started pacing in the room, slow and deliberate, as he talked.

“You don’t have to be pretty, that’s the other plants’ job, you, _you_ give me products that taste good.”

He made a pause so they understood their mission. He could see they were starting to get that something was different from their disgrace of a former nursery. They weren’t shaking yet, but it would come in due time.

“Doesn’t have to be big, or look nice, but it has to taste good. Am I understood?”

Rustles of leaves.

“I’m nice.”

Crowley glared from above his shades at his old plants in warning as he felt the disbelief permeate the air. Trembling started in earnest and he went back to explaining the rules to the new additions.

“I’m nice. You have two weeks to find your bearings. After that, I will not tolerate anything less than perfect.”

A new pregnant pause.

“Especially not from you lot. Aziraphale, you haven't met him yet, that angel is going to be your only source of praises, and he intends to use your products to cook. Do. Not. Disappoint him.”

The old plant had stopped moving altogether. They understood the significance of the new plants’ mission, and was very very glad not to be in their pots.

“You will be given what you need, no less, no more, and in return, you will PERFORM OR BE DESTROYED IN THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL! AND NO ONE WILL MISS YOU!”

Leaves were starting to drop. _Good_.

“Insssspection time,” hissed Crowley with as much softness as a scarf wrapping around your neck and slowly starting to choke you.

The old plants immediately lifted their leaves, straightened their stems and tried really hard to look perfect. Crowley was hoping one of them wouldn’t cut it; it would do good for the newbies to witness what punishment was like here.

He took his time, but didn’t spot anything worth a little trip to the shredder. _Too bad._ He would have thought he would have at least found one victim. He had the feeling the plants were getting sloppy ever since the angel had moved in. Seemed it was only a misconception.

Crowley froze, then zeroed in on a plant he had had under surveillance because of its poor habits. Ready to strike, he began examining in earnest every single inch of it. _Oh, that bloody angel._ The plant was up to standards, yes, but Crowley could feel a discreet, almost intangible, trace of a nice angelic miracle. _Not a misconception, then._ Sabotage made in the name of love.

“Good, I see everyone has been behaving. That means you can do more. GROW BETTER!”

All the plants started quivering, suddenly aware their vacation was certainly over.

It was time to wrap this up; Crowley had to pay a little visit to the shelves in the living room. But first, with a smile, Crowley reached for the myosotis, petting it gently and checking everything was to its liking. It wasn’t the prettiest. It was rather unassuming, really; growing slowly but steadily. His attention shifted to the plant next to it, its guardian. It wasn’t growing anymore, but kept its appearance perfect. _That would do._ He had noticed the forget-me-not tended to grow toward its companion; he would loathe to distress his angel’s gift. Crowley bent to the guardian plant, coiling one hand in its foliage.

“Keep that up. Don’t give me a reason to punish you,” he warned.

The myosotis shook, and Crowley immediately caressed its leaves to reassure it. Poor, sweet thing had really grown attached to its playmate. Pleased, Crowley sauntered to the living room. There, he exacted his vengeance.

Right on time, Crowley heard Aziraphale enter the flat, shuffling gently in the corridor. Making sure he was presentable, Crowley went to greet him.

“Welcome home, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled at him and raised his head, expecting a kiss and receiving one.

“How was your day, dear?”

“I brought new plants. The aromatic ones should be up to standards in a week. As for the others, we will have to wait for them to produce. I’m rather confident.”

With a guiding hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back, Crowley guided him to the sofa, preventing him from going to the kitchen to make tea; he had already prepared it since the angel had been home.

“Splendid. I do hope you didn’t scare them too much, dearest. And thank you for the tea.”

“Nah. Just the right amount so they’ll soon be happy as… as…”

“A duck,” finished Aziraphale. 

Crowley kissed him again as a show of gratitude. It never ceased to amaze him how free with their affections they could be now. Aziraphale settled on the couch, and Crowley draped the tartan blanket on the angel’s legs and took his place on Aziraphale’s lap, his hair cushioned on those plump thighs. Grabbing the book from the low table, he gave it to Aziraphale as he closed his eyes in bliss at feeling manicured fingers trailing in his hair.

“And _your_ day, angel?” he prompted. 

“Nothing of note. I had to give a stern reminder to one client of the restricted area, but apart from that, a slow day.”

“News from Mister Diamond Sutra?”

That unpleasant man had had a fit when he had realized the bookshop had turned into a library. He had calmed down slightly when he understood he could access the Diamond Sutra translation if he passed by the correct loops. And had promptly become a pain until Crowley had a… chat with him.

“No, dearest, I do believe you put the fear of… well, of _yourself_ , in him.”

“I haven’t lost my touch.”

Aziraphale gave a chuckle at that.

“Oh, but Nathan is still absent. It’s been a few days now,” mentioned the angel as an afterthought.

“Used to come by after school, right?”

“Yes, busy parents. Maybe they managed to make more time for him.”

“Mmm. We’ll see if he’s here for Tuesday’s reading.”

Aziraphale hummed his agreement and took his book, intending to start reading. Crowley settled more comfortably and closed his eyes to bask in the tender ministrations of his angel. Aziraphale’s hand petting Crowley’s hair suddenly stopped. Crowley opened one eye and followed his angel’s gaze. He tried to suppress his slowly growing grin. Aziraphale was looking at the bookshelves and his puzzlement was palpable. Crowley had hoped it would take him more time to notice but… he had underestimated his angel.

“...Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?” he replied innocently.

“Did you, by any chance, touch my bookshelves?”

Not “the”, but “ _my_ ”. _Possessive, lovely angel._ Crowley turned to face his angel’s stomach, hiding his wicked grin.

“...Mmmaaaayyybe?” he drawled.

“What for, dear?”

The tone had gotten sort of clipped.

“Why, do you mind, angel?” Crowley asked sweetly.

Aziraphale poked him until he moved and rose from the couch, going to his precious books and squinting at them. A gasp of utter wounded betrayal escaped his lips.

“You ordered them _alphabetically_!” he cried in dismay.

One would have thought “alphabetically” was a swear word. Crowley crossed his arms under his head, still lounging on the sofa, and watched, not even trying to hide his devilish smile anymore. Aziraphale turned to him with barely contained fury in his eyes and opened his mouth to berate him.

But Crowley beat him to it.

“Well, you happened to miracle my plants better, only seemed right for me to help with your books.”

Aziraphale’s mouth clicked shut, his eyes _screaming_ murder, his cheeks growing red at being found out. The angel knew he had misbehaved. Had known so while doing it. But Crowley knew his angel: he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

“Oh, but Crowley, I just did a few minor miracles to help your beloved plants be up to your impossible standards. I didn’t want you to be angry at the poor dears. Isn’t the purpose for them to look pretty? And _don’t_ they?”

Just as foreseen, here was the lie and the passive-aggressive explanation. Aziraphale knew that Crowley knew. That didn’t stop him to try and get off the hook. Crowley loved him for it.

“The _purposssse_ , angel, is for them to behave. As for your bookssss, I figured you would appreciate a more usual classsssification, helpsss to find them. Don’t you like me being niccce?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. Crowley smirked, a barely forked tongue slipping out to lick his lips in satisfaction.

“ _Fine_. I will not tinker with your plants,” surrendered Aziraphale with a put-out sigh.

Resigned, the angel turned back to the bookshelves and opened, with a push, the glass doors to start rearranging his beloved books in order of publication. To do so, he had to move them all out. With a groan, he pulled his bowtie off and rolled up his sleeves. Crowley was up and circling in seconds.

_Being this edible should be illegal._ How was Crowley supposed to resist a dishevelled, pissed angel? He was a demon, for fuck’s sake; resisting temptation wasn’t in the description. He slithered behind Aziraphale and pressed himself against his back, snaking his arms around the angel’s ample waist and nuzzling his face in the other’s neck, breathing in his familiar perfume.

Aziraphale let escape a shaky sigh and didn’t push him away. Emboldened, Crowley made his way up the angel’s neck with kisses and gentle nips until he reached his ear. At the same time, his hands had lowered to caress Aziraphale’s hips, then briefly his buttocks, to end up sliding from the top of the thighs to the soft sensitive inside, burying there and massaging. Aziraphale’s breath hitched.

“I haven’t had you against a bookshelf nor from behind yet,” whispered Crowley.

Aziraphale trembled in his hold, his knees clearly buckling. Crowley nibbled one delicate ear and pressed harder so that his angel could feel just how much he was desired. A strangled gasp answered him.

“How about we remedy that, angel?”

In answer, Aziraphale threw his head back against Crowley’s shoulder. His hands went to Crowley’s, resting on them and encouraging their movements. Half-lidded darkened blue eyes caught golden ones, and Crowley kissed him as he knew his angel wanted. 

With a distracted hand wave, the books were moved out of the way and the glass doors closed. With an unyielding press of his pelvis, Crowley crowded Aziraphale toward them until his front was pressed against them. The angel was panting heavily and shaking. Crowley gently raised a hand from those delicious thighs and brushed against Aziraphale’s crotch, giving a pleased purr at the strain in the old-fashioned pants. 

Crowley started rocking his hips forward languidly and felt Aziraphale lean more fully against the bookshelf, his breath creating clouds on the glass. Crowley dug his fingers deeper into the thick thigh, and a whine escaped his angel. Then Crowley reached for the, for once, uncovered wrists and curled his fingers around them. Aziraphale shook and whimpered, it was encouragement enough for Crowley to assert his grip and gently but firmly force the angel to raise his arms up, above his head where he pinned them with only one hand.

“Yes?” Crowley asked softly.

“Y…yes,” gasped Aziraphale.

“Keep your hands here, angel,” ordered Crowley.

A small nod answered him, and Crowley gave a nip to Aziraphale’s lower jaw, eliciting a delicious moan. Using a miracle, Crowley trailed his fingers up his angel’s front, his pants, waistcoat and shirt unfastening on their own in their wake. Aziraphale closed his eyes with a distressed but aroused whine.

Crowley tugged both his angel’s pants and briefs down. Steadfastly, nails raking just shy from hurting, he made his way up from knee to thigh, to hipbone, to quivering belly, to chest, to a perked nipple, and finally to a bobbing throat around which his hand wrapped in a possessive manner but without pressure. His other hand was firmly on Aziraphale’s hip, holding him put as Crowley kept rubbing and rocking against his round ass.

Then he went back down, possessively mapping his angel’s body. And Aziraphale was deliciously responsive, trembling under his fingers, shaking at certain touches, panting more and more and totally left for Crowley to do as he pleased. His demanding, kind, precious angel, trusting in Crowley’s embrace. And Crowley wanted him so much, wanted to please him, to pleasure him so damn much it hurt.

With a growl and with no warning, he slammed Aziraphale against the glass, making him yelp and cry in both surprise and from the cold. Now, not only were his face and arms pressed on the glass, but his chest, as well as his lower body at each demanding push of Crowley’s hips.

“Y...yes… m… more… Cro… Crowley… more…” whimpered Aziraphale.

And that was all the encouragement Crowley needed. He grabbed the other’s wrists, which Aziraphale had just slightly lowered, and cupped in his other hand the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh and began thrusting in earnest, pushing Aziraphale to the glass. That ripped broken cries and moans from the angel. Crowley kept kissing his curls, his jaw, his throat.

It wasn’t enough, and Crowley let go of that enchanting thigh to trail higher and take his leaking angel in his hand, rubbing and massaging gently as Aziraphale dissolved into whines and met his movements. Soon, Aziraphale was twisting underneath him, babbling broken incoherent words as he tried to escape Crowley’s clever fingers.

Not that he didn’t want the pleasure Crowley was bestowing upon him, no; Aziraphale simply wanted something else. Crowley knew his angel didn’t wish to climax from Crowley’s ministrations. He wanted their joining to last; he wanted to be taken and come from that alone.

“Shhh, angel, shhh, I know what you crave,” whispered Crowley. 

He kept stroking as Aziraphale shook and sobbed desperately. Just as he was getting a bit too close, Crowley stopped, burying his fingers back into the giving flesh of the angel’s thigh. Firmly, Crowley lodged one leg between Aziraphale’s, letting his angel almost sit on it, rubbing gently that sensitive and usually forgotten part. Aziraphale whined and slumped against the glass, letting Crowley keep him upright.

Crowley took this opportunity, his angel getting back his breath, to undo his snake belt and open his pants, freeing himself. Aziraphale, who couldn’t see him but could hear, gave a wanton moan of anticipation.

“Not yet, angel,” berated Crowley with a pleased laugh.

He snapped his fingers, coating them in lube, and gently began to rub between those quivering ass cheeks. As an afterthought, Crowley motioned to his shirt, opening it. As he pushed a finger into Aziraphale’s intimacy, he pressed himself on the angel’s side, naked chest to burning back, rubbing his member against a round hip, and swallowed his angel’s contented moan in a profound kiss.

They were making love so regularly, Crowley wasn’t sure preparing the angel was really necessary. With ease, he added a second finger. Knowing Aziraphale’s body was always ready to welcome him made Crowley groan and bite his angel’s shoulder. A cry answered him. And that was enough to break Crowley’s resolve. He gave himself a few strokefulls of lube, snapped the excess away from his fingers, and positioned himself at Aziraphale’s entrance.

He let go of his angel’s wrists, placed that hand on his plump hip, and buried the other in that delicious thigh. Crowley felt Aziraphale take a deep breath and knew what he hoped for, and it was exactly what Crowley was going to give him. In one jerk of his pelvis, Crowley drove all the way inside, making Aziraphale scream his name as he was slammed into the glass, his body lifted slightly up with the force of it. And Crowley went deeper still, and pressed his body closer, spreading open his angel. Unconsciously, he had closed his teeth on Aziraphale’s throat at the junction of the neck and shoulder. He licked an apology even as he started gently sucking the skin.

Crowley rocked inside with shallow thrusts, staying deep and forcing Aziraphale up the glass and on his toes with each push of his hips. The angel was crying out in pleasure, and Crowley could hear his nails scratch the glass. His hands still firmly holding Aziraphale, he guided him up, then down with each of his movements, enjoying the sounds of his sweat-slick body against the glass.

He kept that rhythm for a while, sometimes taking a break by keeping Aziraphale on his toes as he settled as deep as he could and simply gyrated his pelvis in slow, languid, agonizing rolls. Crowley leaned all his weight on his angel, keeping his face buried against Aziraphale’s neck and nibbling and sucking his heady skin. Once or twice, Crowley lifted the hand holding Aziraphale’s hip to grip the angel’s wrists and place them back into position. That always elicited more broken moans. 

He lovingly trailed his fingers on the feverish skin of his angel, groaning when Aziraphale clenched around him as he teased his sides or when his other hand, still gripping that plump thigh, dug a little bit harder. Crowley sighed in bliss, closing his lips again on that delicious throat and went back into his unrelenting rhythm. Answering cries echoed around him, covering Crowley’s grunts of exertion and pleasure.

“Can’t get enough of you, angel,” groaned Crowley.

He kissed his angel’s cheek, his brow, the corner of his open and panting lips.

“Crowley… Crowley…”

Aziraphale had a way of calling his name that drove Crowley crazy.

“Please… Crowley…”

Crowley pressed himself fully on his angel, nestled as far as he could go, and stilled making him sob in frustrated pleasure.

“You don’t have to beg, Aziraphale. Never. Tell me what you want.” 

A whine was his only reply and Crowley bit his own lips to get a grip as he realized that Aziraphale preferred to beg rather than voice what he needed. Crowley started moving again, languidly, one hand roaming freely on his angel shaking with need, the other still entirely focused on massaging the thigh in his hold. Small cries welcomed him, and Aziraphale tried to lower his arms. Crowley caught Aziraphale before he could, forcing him up against the glass more fully. His angel shuddered wantonly and mewled. _Clever little angel._ Crowley pulled his angel slightly away, groaning as that made him meet the roll of Aziraphale’s hips.

Aziraphale sobbed at Crowley’s denial, at his unhurried pace that just wasn’t enough anymore. Then cried out as Crowley pressed him back to the glass, pushing fully inside him and making him stay on his toes as his body rocked up the glass. And just as fast, Crowley was back to that slow and torturous pace, Aziraphale sliding down and away from the once cool, but now hot glass.

Crowley was back to nibbling and sucking on Aziraphale’s neck, chuckling as the angel wriggled in his hold to try and get what he craved. Sobbing when Crowley almost gave it to him but never for long. It was just a teasing of what the angel could get… if only he asked.

“Crowley… Ha… Harder…” whimpered Aziraphale.

Cries turned into screams as Crowley obliged. He slammed with abandon in that delicious clenching heat, moulding himself against Aziraphale’s back as he forced his body up the glass, helping him with his hold on that trembling thigh and his hip.

“Harder… Deeper…” Aziraphale demanded hoarsely between screams.

Crowley did his best to give him just that, muffling his own grunts into that perfect shoulder. He thrusted deep and hard and fast, losing control and just taking his angel as requested. In the end, he lost any rhythm as he chased his own pleasure, pounding into Aziraphale desperately and being met with the same urgency, the angel clenching around him.

With a last broken scream, Aziraphale orgasmed, tensing fully, head thrown back as a full-body shudder coursed through him. He sobbed in agonized pleasure, arms shaking but still in position, as Crowley gave a last slam of his pelvis and came as deep as he could, rocking his angel against the glass as he rode out both their climaxes.

They stilled. Aziraphale went slack against Crowley as they both caught their breath. The angel was trembling, and Crowley knew he was the only thing keeping him standing. Gently, he petted Aziraphale’s side, nuzzled his face against the other’s face, and peppered him with gentle kisses. When Crowley tried to remove his hand from Aziraphale’s thigh, the angel grabbed him shakily to keep him there. The angel’s other hand reached backward to comb his fingers through red hair.

“Stay like that a bit longer,” requested Aziraphale, his voice croaky.

Crowley nodded and went back to petting him, while enjoying his angel playing with his hair and stroking Crowley’s hand on the angel’s thigh with his thumb. After a while, Crowley pulled out and stepped back, laughing as Aziraphale went with him, obviously still not totally in control of his legs.

“That good, huh?”

“Yes, dearest, _that good_ ,” agreed Aziraphale with not one ounce of shame.

“Shut up,” grumbled Crowley, his cheeks red in embarrassment and satisfaction.

With the help of a little miracle, he gathered Aziraphale up and carried him to their bed, tenderly lowering him onto the covers. He kissed him on the nose and went to the bathroom to get cool water and a cloth. Crowley took this opportunity to snap his clothes off and went back to the room stark naked. He reddened even as he preened under the appreciative glance of his angel.

Crowley reverently started cleaning and refreshing his angel, undressing him fully to do so. And taking this opportunity to steal his angel’s shirt and wear it as a pyjama shirt. Aziraphale was still too out of it to comment, he simply rested one hand on Crowley’s knee.

“I do believe I went back to Heaven for a bit there,” chuckled Aziraphale.

“Not sure that’s a compliment, angel. Did you see God?”

“Crowley!” admonished Aziraphale.

“You’re the one that started blaspheming!”

Aziraphale huffed and Crowley kissed him. He slithered between Aziraphale’s legs and nuzzled into him, laying his entire body on Aziraphale’s soft one, snaking his arms around the angel, one hand closing on an ass cheek. Aziraphale kept trailing fingers in his hair and nape, and started softly caressing his back.

“Are you falling asleep, dearest?”

The angel had buried one hand in Crowley’s hair and was combing distractedly. 

“ _Mmm_.”

“Let me get my nightgown and my book.”

The angel was already up and about before Crowley could manage to grumble a protest.

“You realize that totally woke me up, right?” grumbled Crowley.

“Yes, but I also know you will get right back to it once I’m back into bed with you and petting you, dear.”

That was totally true. Didn’t mean Crowley liked it.

Face planting on his angel’s side of the bed, Crowley waited for him to come back. At least he still had his intoxicating smell to keep him…

“Oh!”

The little exclamation of surprise and wonder made Crowley turn his head toward the bathroom. Aziraphale exited it, dressed into his frilly white nightgown, a flush high on his cheeks and his eyes shining and coy. His hand was on the side of his throat. Crowley sat on the bed, puzzled and Aziraphale joined him with barely contained excitement.

“Look, dear, you gave me a hickey!” he chuckled as he lifted his hand.

And indeed, here was his reddish skin, the proof of Crowley’s absentminded love bite. He had marked his angel. And Aziraphale seemed delighted by it.

“Don’t worry, dear, it doesn’t hurt, and I can conceal it under my collar,” assured Aziraphale, misunderstanding Crowley’s silence.

Crowley gently pushed away Aziraphale’s hand, that had been gently prodding his marked skin, and stared at his work. The skin was whole but red, slowly turning a little purple. He touched it softly, and Aziraphale’s breath caught as it was slightly sensitive or definitely erotic, if the suddenly dilated pupils of his angel were any indication.

“My angel,” murmured Crowley with a note of wonder.

Reverently, Crowley kissed that mark he had left without knowing, then went up the throat and started sucking a new one. Aziraphale gasped and buried his hands in Crowley’s hair to keep him there. Not just accepting, then, but _willing_.

In seconds, Crowley had Aziraphale flat on his back and was hoisting up his nightgown to get it out of the way. He stopped kissing, sucking and nibbling only to get his lips on another part of Aziraphale’s body. He took his sweet time marking his angel everywhere he felt like it, enjoying the encouraging sighs he elicited, and learning exactly where Aziraphale particularly relished being marked. Like his inner thigh.

## ***

Crowley was reading with the children, already starting on the second book since the first one had been rather short. Nathan was here, which had pleased Aziraphale greatly. But the child was quiet, seeming disturbed by something he didn’t want to discuss yet.

“Crowley, dear?”

“Yes, angel?”

A head of white hair poked into their little nook, and the angel smiled as the children all looked at him with hope in their eyes.

“Only one candy, dears,” reminded Aziraphale.

Under the barrage of protests, begging, and actual bargaining, Aziraphale made his way to Crowley, giving him his phone he had forgotten on the sofa where he had been napping.

“Thanks.”

Aziraphale gave him a peck on the mouth and caressed his cheek before leaving, letting Crowley hold his hand until they had to part. Clearing his throat, he turned back to his charges and noticed Nathan glaring at him.

“Yes?”

“You shouldn’t be doing that.”

There was a bit of animosity in the child’s voice. The others, feeling it, stopped their racket and turned expectantly to them.

“Doing what?” asked Crowley, making sure his tone was neutral.

“Kissing Zira.”

_So that was what had happened._ Crowley had wondered when things like that would catch up to them. Funny how children didn’t mind until some grownup told them otherwise. Maybe that also explained why he didn’t come anymore, except on Tuesday when both his parents weren’t free and hadn’t yet worked out a solution.

“Why?” wondered Crowley.

“It’s wrong and unnatural.”

“Why?”

There was silence for a bit as Nathan was taken aback.

“Because you are both men. Men don’t kiss other men, it’s wrong.”

“Why?”

Nathan was growing restless, angry at not receiving anything else but the same question in return for his words.

“My parents told me so!”

“Ah. And you agree with them?”

That seemed to freeze the child. The others were soaking up the exchange, unconsciously feeling the importance of it. One opened his mouth to talk, but Crowley lifted a finger to request silence. He was obeyed. One rule in reading Tuesday was you let others take their time to gather their thoughts and talk.

“...No?” whispered Nathan.

“Why?” asked Crowley.

Tears were starting to gather in the child’s eyes as he was suddenly asked to actually have an opinion… and realized it was different from the one of his parents.

“It’s okay, thinking your parents are wrong isn’t bad,” reassured Crowley.

“You love Zira just like mum and dad love each other! And _they_ kiss! So why shouldn’t you? They said people that love each other kiss and then suddenly it’s not just _people_ that love each other but only a girl and a boy! I don’t get _why_!” exploded Nathan, looking really upset.

“You told them as much, didn’t you?”

Nathan nodded and started to cry.

“They yelled and got angry. They said it’s just unnatural.”

“Well, it’s called being homosexual, or sometimes just ‘gay,’ and many animals in nature can actually have homosexual individuals. How about I read to you about that? Then you can decide for yourself?”

“I don’t want Zira and you to be sad,” sniffled Nathan.

Crowley gathered him into his arms, petting his head gently.

“Well, that means a lot to me, Nathan, thank you.”

The child nodded and Crowley patted the ground behind him to produce one of the books introducing homosexuality to children, that he had just miracled into his read pile. All the children got closer, snuggling to him and talking all at the same time to say they didn’t want Crowley or Aziraphale sad either.

The reading session was over and Crowley was waiting for the parents to come collect their offspring. Nathan was holding his hand and was glued to his leg. Soon, he was the last one remaining. Like every Tuesday.

“What happened?” whispered Aziraphale.

Nathan wouldn’t look at him, hiding his face in Crowley’s pants. Before Crowley could try to explain the clusterfuck that was the situation, they could hear Nathan’s mother approach, on the phone as usual. Nathan pried himself from Crowley, and even went as far as taking a step back, he kept his face downcast, as if he was ashamed of his own attitude. Crowley gently brushed his head in comfort but didn’t linger as the mother entered. Aziraphale was wringing his hands. Lilly, who was at the welcoming desk, pretended she was reading but followed the situation with a close eye.

“Mrs. Davies,” greeted Aziraphale.

“Mr. Fell. I’m in a hurry. Ah, come here Nathan,” she instructed, coldly.

The child obeyed immediately, but glanced toward Crowley. The latter, leaning on a shelf, shades firmly in place, arms crossed and looking nonchalant, said, “I’m surprised you even allowed him to be here today, with depraved homosexuals.”

Aziraphale, who was tugging on this bowtie, nearly unravelled it in his shock. He cleared his throat and passed nervous hands on his waistcoat.

“What do you mean, Crowley?”

Madame Davies looked appalled by Crowley’s blatant attitude. Maybe she was used to people giving her a pass or not daring to confront her. _Tough luck._

“I have nothing against homosexuals, it is well known Mr. Fell is one. But to kiss in front of children? I didn’t think you were so uncouth!”

Crowley opened his mouth to reply, but Aziraphale had become very still. _Oh_. Crowley wanted to see that. Smirking, he motioned for Aziraphale to please be his guest.

“You do not kiss in front of your son?” he asked, feigning being perplexed.

There was a pause during which Mrs. Davies had to realize Aziraphale didn’t understand what her troubles were. She hadn’t expected to have to explain it. Crowley could read the growing frustration in her body language.

“Of course I do. It’s different! Two men kissing in front of a child! What example is that?!” she groused.

Aziraphale blinked and slightly tilted his head, the picture of innocent puzzlement. He gave a little laugh. 

“Well, an example of love in a healthy relationship,” he piped up joyously, smiling.

_That_ sent Mrs. Davies in a frenzy. She didn’t seem to be able to wrap her mind around Aziraphale’s, from her point of view, total lack of common sense. And she seemed hard-pressed to find the right words to explain. Because there _were_ no right words. And she realised that as all the sentences she formed in her head seemed too bigoted. Crowley knew she didn’t see herself as one. 

“What if he asks me how you… you people sleep together!?” she finally half-hissed, half-whispered.

Aziraphale gasped loudly, putting a hand on his mouth and his eyes going comically wide.

“Oh, dear! How _terrible_! I totally understand your concerns! Is your child asking how Rapunzel and Eugene sleep together? That would concern me, too!” he exclaimed, looking for all the world like a very distressed and sympathetic friend.

Crowley felt his smile grow, and tried very hard not to chortle gleefully. His angel was really something else. It was a pleasure to see him defend himself toward a person he didn’t fear. It had been amazing to see him evade Gabriel and the others, but terrible and worrisome at the same time.

“What? _No_!” protested Madame Davies, once again thrown off by what was happening.

“No?” asked Aziraphale, surprised. “Then why would he ask about me and Crowley, dear?”

Oh, Crowley was having a grand time. He pushed his glasses slightly down and winked at Nathan. Mrs. Davies’ mouth opened and closed like a fish. Aziraphale smiled kindly at her, even if his eyes were ice cold.

“Aren’t you projecting, dear?” he sweetly suggested.

Then he turned to his desk and rummaged through it and pulled a pristine white card. From the church he was a patron of.

“How… how dare you…”

Aziraphale ignored her fumbling for words, took her hand and placed the card in it.

“I do remember you being a practicing Christian. I advise you to seek counsel here. They will help you open that narrow mind of yours.”

Bending toward Nathan, Aziraphale smiled at him.

“Ohhh, look here!”

Crowley groaned as his angel used his usual coin behind you ear magic trick, with a candy this time, even if he had to admit Aziraphale was getting better at it. Nathan took the candy and thanked Aziraphale with a quick hug.

“I don’t mind you and Crowley kissing! I don’t want you to be sad! And sleeping together, well, it’s like when I get to sleep with my parents, right? I bring my own cushion!”

“Yes, dear,” replied Aziraphale with a gentle smile.

He rose and turned back to Mrs. Davies, who was still red faced and angry, and maybe a tiny bit ashamed. She pulled her child to her, but before she could say anything Aziraphale was talking again.

“Well, I don’t want to make you late!” he directed her firmly to the door, “I look forward to seeing Nathan next Tuesday,” he added.

“I…”

“Perfect. You did say you were in a hurry, off you go!”

Aziraphale closed the door in her face. Crowley strode to his huffing angel and kissed him passionately. Lilly coughed gently to get them to part. Crowley kept an arm firmly around his angel’s waist.

“I did miss you getting all basilisk on customers, it’s such a treat every time,” remarked Lilly.

Aziraphale blushed, but at the same time, preened a bit, and Crowley kissed him again in adoration.

“I _do_ hope little Nathan will be able to come back,” Aziraphale murmured, looking forlornly at the door.

“I’m treating you to dinner tonight, the Ritz,” informed Crowley. 

As expected, that nicely derailed Aziraphale from his worries. His angel might be naïve sometimes, but he knew the reality of bigoted people, and the fact that a conversation was far from enough to get them to reconsider their ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual reviews mean the world to me, makes me feel like I'm not writing for nothing :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear me lol I forgot we were Friday and I had to post !!! So sorry !
> 
> Thank your to the lovely people who reviewed : HolRose, foxtamer113, elf_on_the_shelf, Jewely, SlimMuffin and WishIWasAPrincipality <3 <3 
> 
> And to those who left kudos :) 
> 
> Do thank WishIWasAPrincipality who sent me a message and made me realize I had to post >.< So sorry !
> 
> From here on, the lovely PollyPocalypse (https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyPocalypse/pseuds/PollyPocalypse) is betaing the chapers :) Thank you for your help!

Special disclaimer: dear Jewish readers, if anything in this chapter is clumsy or offensive, I apologize, I mean no harm. Please do feel free to tell me and I will do my best to correct it. 

Crowley gently scooped up a rat and freed him from the high tech gadgetry he had equipped it with: a small camera. It had given him images from the contents of the rooms he had planned to rob. Distractedly, he fed his minion a piece of tasty cheese, taken from his angel’s pantry. As he thought of Aziraphale, he touched his bond bracelet, receiving warmth a few moments later.

It had taken many trips, some fiascos (like forgetting to turn on the camera…) but he had finally managed to get all the footage needed. He had already started to evaluate some of the art and objects, and also to find the families it originally belonged to.

“So many…” he sighed as he watched the video and printed all the new things.

He felt a nuzzle under his hand and petted Minion, his faithful accomplice in this new endeavour. 

“It’d be so much easier if we managed to get the angel in,” grumbled Crowley.

A squeak of agreement answered him. All this research and especially the genealogic aspect really wasn’t Crowley’s forte. Aziraphale would have all the knowledge and resources necessary to do it so much faster! Not to mention the key part of Crowley’s plan needed the angel, and he hadn’t managed to find a way to circumvent that. Crowley leaned on his desk, his face inches from Minion, who was gently cleaning itself.

“We have to be clever about it, Minion,” he announced.

 _Squeak_.

“The direct approach is out of the question. I couldn’t even get a word out last time!”

 _Squeak_!

“Do I try to seduce him? With food? With a gift? He’ll see me coming a mile away, the clever bastard.”

_Squeak…_

Crowley caressed the little head with one finger and repressed a very undemonic giggle as Minion licked his finger. His nail polish was starting to flake.

“Mmm, if I make him redo my nails, that’ll keep him at hand. He’s too dedicated, he won’t leave a job half done. And he won’t suspect foul play if it’s not about pleasing him.”

_Squeak. Squeak._

“But how do I broach the subject? Maybe I shouldn’t mention the heist… start with the research? He’s curious, he’ll want to know how I got my hands on that stuff.”

_Squeak._

“But by then he’ll have noticed I tricked him. Do you think he’ll be on board if he’s curious enough?”

_Squeaaaaak._

“Mmm. He won’t know I need him for something else, indeed. And once he’s invested in it, he’ll agree to help me. Minion, I think we have a plan!”

 _Squeak_!

Crowley picked Minion up and placed him on his shoulder, even though he knew the rat would travel all over him. He went to the bathroom where he kept his nail stuff. He took the darker-than-black one (Yes, there were different kinds of dark, and Crowley had moods), his “I’m gonna fuck shit up” nail polish of choice.

Sauntering to the living room, he placed everything on the low table. He would have to time it well, so the angel would stumble upon him already working on his nails, prompting him to propose his help. He counted on his minion’s network to warn him when the angel left the bookshop.

As planned, he was almost done with removing his previous nail polish when Aziraphale arrived. The angel wrinkled his nose at the odour and naturally went to sit in front of Crowley, who bit the inside of his cheeks to prevent a grin from gracing his lips. Usually Aziraphale sat next to him. The angel was in the bag.

“Want help with that, dearest?”

Crowley finished his last finger and relinquished his hands to his angel. Aziraphale started inspecting them, then snapped a manicure kit into existence and started working. Crowley nearly forgot all about his plan as the angel alternated between massaging him and taking care of his fingers. Nearly.

“Angel?”

“Yes, dearest?”

Good, this looked promising compared to last time when he’d immediately gotten a harsh “no”. Crowley gave a little whine of discontent when Aziraphale stopped his ministrations and took the bottle of hardening polish.

“You have lovely hands, Crowley,” Aziraphale mentioned offhandedly, “and very nimble too.”

“Ngk.”

If he didn’t know better, Crowley would have thought the angel was coming on to him. Fuck, Aziraphale was still clueless of how some of his words and actions drove Crowley crazy. He wanted to push Aziraphale on the carpet and have his wicked way with him. But no. He had a plan. He could have the angel later. (And wasn’t that a pleasing thought?) Right. The plan. Aziraphale kissed his knuckles, then started painting in a meticulous way.

“When you look for first editions, you sometimes have to do some genealogical research, right?” asked Crowley in his most neutral voice.

“Yes, it happens. And you know I love knowing my books’ history. Why?”

“Oh, it’s just that there’s this old book from the Torah, and I need to find its rightful owner.”

Aziraphale gave one last swipe with the brush and blew softly on Crowley’s nails to make the polish harden faster. Crowley shivered from head to toes and groaned as his angel started massaging his hands again, to keep busy as they waited before putting on the black nail polish..

“Is that what you wanted my help with last time?” wondered Aziraphale.

Crowley considered lying. Blue eyes caught his gaze, and any idea of that went out the window.

“Not really,” he mumbled.

“Dearest, you know I don’t want to be an active participant in your clever mischief.”

Crowley nodded, dejected at being bested once again. Aziraphale kissed his palm and the top of his hand, and opened the dark polish.

“But I’m always willing to help with research, like the time you wanted all the sewer plans from the beginning of London.”

Oh yeah, that had been a fun one. But the horrid odours that had resulted from Crowley’s mischief had been punishing enough to prevent the demon from messing with the sewers ever again. At least on a grand scale - he wasn’t above drowning individual people in their own shit, literally.

“Then can you help me with estimating the value of books, paintings, objects and the like, then find their owners?”

“Of course, dearest. And you do know I’m also always willing to listen to your schemes. I love how your mind works, how clever and full of resources you are, my wily old serpent.”

So Crowley had been right. Curiosity had played a part. But he had underestimated Aziraphale’s dedication to him, his love of what Crowley was: an agent of chaos. He loved that angel. And he never tired of realizing it.

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale kissed his blushing nose. Crowley pushed the table to the side and scooted closer, his legs bracketing his angel as Crowley leaned his back against the sofa. 

“Go ahead, dearest, tell me all about that new plan of yours.”

So all those times Aziraphale had patiently listened to Crowley plot, and present said plots to him, as a crash test before presenting some of them to hell, it hadn’t been merely part of their arrangement. The angel had truly enjoyed those moments and all his little encouragements and wahoos had been real. Crowley knew Aziraphale loved him but it was such a rush when he was proved right.

“So it all started with an asshole who dared to honk at the Bentley -” Crowley began.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure you deserved that one,” piped up Aziraphale.

Crowley made a sarcastic face at him, but decided to be the better ethereal being and not rise to the bait.

“I was at a standstill!” snapped Crowley. “... at a green light,” he added, after a suspicious eyeing.

“You wicked thing,” lovingly admonished Aziraphale, badly hiding his laughter.

“You like that,” preened Crowley.

“Yes, I do,” admitted Aziraphale.

Crowley cleared his throat and fought the redness that had claimed his face. He would have to get used to Aziraphale’s compliments, it didn’t do for a cool awesome demon like him to get in a tizzy every time his angel said that kind of thing.

“Where was I?” Crowley grumbled, floundering to get his composure back.

“That very rude man honking at you for no discernible reason,” prompted Aziraphale. 

Crowley poked his thigh in retaliation for his cheek. Aziraphale wriggled in unabashed bastardly pleasure.

“So I decided to exact rightful vengeance,” continued Crowley, ignoring Aziraphale’s snicker, “and found out that the man had his hands in some shady business. Which then brought me to his country estate. And two rooms full of stolen art and objects. Including Jewish property stolen by the Nazis. Who he seems to be part of, since he has some flags displayed.”

“A very unpleasant man indeed,” said Aziraphale.

His use of understatement never ceased to amuse Crowley. But his face betrayed that resigned anger at some of humanity’s atrocities.

“So I’m planning a heist to steal back all that, make sure he gets in some deep trouble and, well, get those possessions back to their owners.”

“It’s not stealing if you’re simply getting things back on behalf of their owner.”

Crowley smiled like the snake who caught the duck. Aziraphale was making excuses! He _so_ had Aziraphale in on the plan. He had known that would be right up Aziraphale’s alley.

“You have photos?” wondered Aziraphale.

“Yeah.”

“Then I will get in touch with my contacts. And that nice rabbi who specializes in these kinds of sordid affairs. He’ll be a great help to get in touch with the families or… well, at least make sure it stays with Jewish people.”

It wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had helped in such an endeavour, his way to help in World War II (and got him in the spy mess). Crowley sighed and gently tapped his angel’s side with his feet.

“So, wanna hear about the heist?” he asked, grinning.

“I’m all ears, dearest.”

Crowley began explaining all his machinations, how he had gotten the rats to get him photos and the layout of the estate. How he had learnt about a very old forgotten secret passage that connected the nearby field to the chapel… which was his entrance point.

“That’s dangerous, dear. Can’t you break in from the windows or something?”

The angel was on to him; he knew that had been the thing he had wanted help with the first time. And he did not look amused or amenable. At least he hadn’t shut Crowley down, yet.

“He has guards, cameras and stuff, angel. I don’t want to leave any clues.”

“Why? As long as it’s not traced back to you.”

“Well you see, I intend for him to have some... let’s say divine punishment.” Crowley made a face, as if he wanted to go get a bar of soap and wash his mouth from that word, “for that, it must seem as if he hasn’t been robbed.”

Done with Crowley’s nails, Aziraphale lifted a perplexed eyebrow and started to turn Crowley to mush in his hold as he massaged his hands again, trailing to the wrists, making sure to keep the nails safe as the polish dried.

“Why is that?”

“Well I don’t want human justice to deal with him. Could get off easy.”

Aziraphale’s face fell as he had to agree with that sad observation. Well-placed money, abuse of power…

“So,” Crowley continued, “if he loses precious cargo and there’s no explanation, yes? Well, I don’t think his nice totally-lawful buddies are going to appreciate it. Especially not when some of said cargo is going to pop up. I believe they’ll think he was double-crossing them… and you know how those people deal with this kind of blatant display of disrespect.”

“That actually is really devilish of you,” admitted Aziraphale.

But Crowley wasn’t hearing any protestations. Just like he hadn’t when Crowley had sent the executioner from the Bastille to his death in Aziraphale’s stead, or had dropped a bomb on a certain church.

“Speaking of double-crossing, wouldn’t you want to have some payback, angel? Get the better of some Nazis? By, I don’t know, helping to get your favourite wily serpent safely inside the building?”

He had pushed on all of Aziraphale’s weak points: his pettiness and his need to keep Crowley safe. The hands massaging his stopped as the angel glared at him. He knew he had been played.

“Oh fine, you win,” surrendered Aziraphale. “Let’s play a Nazi for a sucker!” he cheerfully added.

## ***

“And what exactly are you doing?” wondered Crowley.

It was the tone he used for Warlock when the child knew very well he had been caught red-handed. He was even tapping his foot and looking from above his glasses at Aziraphale with an unimpressed, slightly reproachful look.

Truly, he should have known or at least suspected. Knowing Aziraphale, it was a given. The bastard didn’t even look guilty. Worse, he was straightening, ready to argue, looking for all the world like _he_ was the one that had been slighted.

Crowley strolled over to him and yanked the potted plant out of his grip. Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest and clicked it shut as Crowley lifted a finger to silence him.

“Do I go and talk sternly to your books?” he accused.

The angel had the good grace to lower his gaze and start fidgeting.

“I was only appreciating your mastery with them?”

His interrogative tone showed he was reaching, clinging to straws and well aware that it wouldn’t work.

“You were giving praisssessss. Pampering,” hissed Crowley.

“They have been working very hard!” argued Aziraphale.

“Angel.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. I overstepped. I will refrain.”

He didn’t promise not to do it again. Typical Aziraphale. This would have to do. Crowley gave a curt nod and placed the pot back in its rightful place. Aziraphale gave one last apologetic and disconsolate side glance at the plants and left the room. 

Crowley had been wondering why his plants kept misbehaving more easily lately. Nothing that warranted a trip to the shredder, but still not optimal performance. He had thought it was the bad influence of the newbies that hadn’t yet learnt the fear of Crowley. He had been wrong. He used to be able to leave them for weeks without so much as a leaf out of order.

But they hadn’t had an angel spoiling them rotten, praising them, pampering them, sneaking them fertilizer. Everything but miracling defects away, since Crowley had noticed that particular help last time. Crowley was impressed he hadn’t caught Aziraphale doing it sooner. If he hadn’t come back from one of his mischief missions earlier than planned, he wouldn’t have known.

Crowley slithered his hand around the pot of the plant Aziraphale had been cooing to. It was preening, trying very hard to look its best and shaking dreadfully.

“You better make sure to keep being as pretty as he thinks you are. You know I don’t take well when one of you disappoints me, imagine what’ll happen if I feel you disappointed _him_.”

If plants could sweat, that’s what they would have been doing. Crowley grabbed the pot.

“You know what that means. You come with me to the study. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

The leaves momentarily dropped and blanched, then perked up and turned greener than before as Crowley lifted an eyebrow. He did that sometimes, took one of them with him and kept it under scrutiny for days. Some withered under the stress, some survived.

He strode to the study and placed it on the windowsill, making sure it would have all the required light. He wasn’t cruel, they had all they needed to be perfect. If they weren’t, it was all their doing. He sat on his throne, one foot on his desk and turned on the TV.

It had remained here so that Crowley could watch his programs in peace while the angel read in the living room. They both needed time for themselves to enjoy what the other didn’t really care for. It was also here that Crowley listened to the music Aziraphale really disliked. When they watched a movie together, they simply moved the TV.

After one hour of brooding and watching _Mean Girls_ he heard a tap on the door. He grunted and Aziraphale poked his head in.

“Can I come in, dearest?”

Crowley could smell coffee from where he sat. An offering. He nodded and watched as Aziraphale entered, glancing at him and biting his lip. He felt guilty. His hair was a mess, the beautiful curls in disarray because he had been trailing worried hands through them.

He looked delicious. Crowley licked his lips. Aziraphale put the coffee on the desk, making sure to use a coaster. Crowley watched his back, the way his waistcoat shaped his silhouette, the curve of his ass made perfect by well-tailored trousers.

The angel turned to him, twisting his hands.

“I… I brought you coffee,” he said.

Crowley nodded and didn’t move. Aziraphale gave a long suffering sigh.

“Dearest… I truly am sorry…”

Crowley placed his other foot on the table, bracketing Aziraphale, trapping him. The latter blinked as he took in his predicament, then gulped at the hungry look directed at him.

“Make it up to me,” ordered Crowley.

He watched Aziraphale’s expression, saw his pupils dilate, his body shiver and his crotch start to tent. He was up to it then. Crowley hadn’t doubted that for one second. Still needed to check. He captured blue eyes with unblinking golden ones and waited until he received a nod.

“Strip.”

Aziraphale flushed and lowered his gaze, shivered as his attention landed on Crowley’s legs, bracketing him. It was a reddening of embarrassment mixed with desire. He rubbed a hand on Crowley’s pant leg, lingering on his knee.

Then, with an assurance that denied any coyness, Aziraphale reached for his bowtie and unfastened it. He turned to place it on the desk and Crowley closed his legs around him, pressing gently. He knew the angel was remembering how Crowley had bent him on this very desk.

Aziraphale turned in his embrace and started unbuttoning his waistcoat from bottom to top. He slid it off, folded it and placed it on the desk’s side. Under Crowley’s unwavering attention, he busied himself with his shirt. He was about to shake it off.

“Keep it.”

That earned him a surprised look and Crowley licked his smiling lips, loving how that made Aziraphale shiver.

“Remove the cufflinks and roll the sleeves up.” 

Aziraphale did as he was told. He seemed at a loss after that and Crowley gently tapped the side of his pants with his foot. The angel obeyed, opening his trousers and sliding them down. He took off his shoes, placed them under the desk, stepped out of his pants and folded them. He reached for his sock garters and stopped as Crowley’s foot batted his hand away.

“Keep those on.”

Rising, Aziraphale nodded and stood there in his briefs, his undone shirt and his sock garters. He let Crowley trail his gaze across him, drink in this sight that was only meant for him. His hands rested on Crowley’s legs, a thumb absentmindedly rubbing a knee. Crowley tapped his angel’s underwear with his foot and smiled approvingly as it was immediately removed, revealing that Aziraphale was very much enjoying their game.

He opened his mouth and Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale fell silent and stood there again, on display. Crowley took his time observing him, never tired of this sight. Then he undid his scarf and in a smooth motion threw it around Aziraphale’s waist. He pulled and Aziraphale stumbled toward him with a gasp. Crowley kept pulling until he was standing between his now lowered legs.

Slowly Crowley placed his hands on him, on that smooth supple flesh at his side and crept up, teasing a nipple on his way. Aziraphale’s legs buckled. Crowley lifted his hips pointedly and the angel got the idea, fumbling a little with his belt and the button of his pants but freeing him soon enough. He gave a tentative stroke and Crowley groaned. Aziraphale started to lower himself but Crowley’s hand under his chin stopped him.

“No.”

That seemed to puzzle Aziraphale greatly and Crowley couldn’t help a fond smile. He stroked his cheek, then grabbed a thigh and hoisted it up on his leg. Aziraphale clutched to an armrest to keep his balance.

“I’ll have you ride me on my throne.”

On those words he racked fingers from plump thigh to knee and felt Aziraphale tremble and whimper. His angel was always so responsive. With his other hand, he grabbed Aziraphale’s other leg, guiding him onto his lap. It wouldn’t be an easy process.

The throne wobbled and, knowing what his master was able to do to his plants, bolted itself to the ground. If it were to hurt his owner -- or worse, the angel…

After much fumbling and many manoeuvres, Aziraphale was sitting on Crowley’s lap. His legs dangled from above the armrests and his hands gripped them for dear life as only his strength and Crowley’s hands at his back were keeping him from falling. 

“This isn’t very comfortable.”

“That’s the idea, angel.”

Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s chin with a finger and claimed his lips, slow and deep, tongue exploring lazily. He felt Aziraphale scoot closer, aiming to improve his balance and wrap his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley stopped him. He removed his hand from Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale gave a little yelp and braced himself on his arms, clinging to the armrests.

Slowly Crowley trailed his hands on Aziraphale’s skin, teasing his belly, caressing his sides, rubbing at pert nipples, digging at the collarbone, sliding under the shirt to stroke the shoulders. Crowley took his sweet time exploring his angel, enjoying the sighs of pleasure and the quivering of Aziraphale’s body under his fingers. 

A few times he bent to his angel and took a nipple in his mouth, licking it, nibbling at it until it was hard. He claimed Aziraphale’s lips a few times, kissing him deeply, slowly and possessively. He knew the angel was frustrated at being unable to reciprocate, he couldn’t let go of the armrest or he would fall.

Crowley reclined in his throne and simply enjoyed the view. His angel was flushed with desire, eyes dilated, lips half parted, white curls sticking to his brow. The muscles of his arms were on display where his shirt was rolled up, the blue nicely complementing the glossy skin of his offered body. His nipples were stiff and reddened. Aziraphale was already impossibly hard and he shook under the attention, Crowley licked his lips. 

Teasingly Crowley caressed the quivering thighs, enjoying the deep groan he elicited from the angel as he dug his thumbs into that giving flesh. But he didn’t remain there, he stroked lower, scratching at the knees and sliding a finger under the sock garters before lazily trailing back up. Aziraphale was panting, hungrily following Crowley’s movements with his eyes but keeping still.

Crowley snapped his fingers and coated them with lube. Aziraphale’s breath hitched in anticipation. Crowley wrapped his hand around his own member, rubbing the lube so it was slick, brushing Aziraphale’s as he did so but not giving him any attention.

Done, Crowley cleaned his hand with a snap and placed it back on a plump thigh, digging his thumb in that place that drove Aziraphale wild. His other hand was spread on Aziraphale’s chest, two fingers playing with a nipple, rolling it between them, pinching from time to time.

“Get to work,” instructed Crowley.

Aziraphale rocked his hips, grinding against Crowley a few times before the latter immobilized him with a press of his hand on his thigh. Crowley curled both his hands on his angel’s ass and lifted him up above his member, then stopped and repositioned his hands on Aziraphale’s thick thighs, unmoving. Aziraphale had gotten the idea and he lowered himself, feeling Crowley’s desire slide between his ass-cheeks but not enter him, only rubbing deliciously against him. He lifted his hips again, humming in pleasure at the slick drag of Crowley’s flesh against his entrance.

Aziraphale did that a few times, gyrating his pelvis, rocking forward and backward. He was biting his lips, the muscles in his arms locked to keep his balance. Crowley was watching him, stroking his thighs, ass and sides, groaning sporadically.

“Ride me.”

Aziraphale lifted himself higher, then lowered himself but only to have Crowley’s member slide against him. He tried again, managing to have it poke at his entrance then slip again. His arms were straining under the effort as he lifted higher, moved his hips in a vain try to get Crowley inside him. The angel was panting in pleasure and whining in frustration.

His movements were getting more desperate as Crowley’s member kept sliding, slipping, poking but never entered him. Sometimes he was so close to managing it but always, at the last minute, it escaped him. Perspiration was gathering on his face and his panting was heavy with exertion.

Frustrated, he tried to free one hand and almost toppled backwards, only Crowley’s swift grab of his back preventing it. Aziraphale rested against that merciful hand, catching his breath and gathering his strength. Then he lifted himself again and lowered gradually, arms straining. Crowley could feel his tip against his angel’s entrance, felt him push down slowly, he could feel Aziraphale’s body opening,then just as he was about to enter him, his member glided up and above. A dejected whine escaped Aziraphale and Crowley chuckled.

Aziraphale tried again, this time when Crowley was at his entrance, the angel tried rocking his hips in languid motion and whimpered as he felt it escape him again. Except this time, Crowley lowered his hand there, and as Aziraphale went down, he finally pushed inside him. Aziraphale’s relief, and the pleasure of finally being entered, made him forget himself for just a moment and his muscles betrayed him, he slammed down, impaling himself fully to the hilt with a cry.

Crowley cupped his face in worry but needn’t have, it had been a cry of intense pleasure, the angel was trembling, biting his lips in ecstasy. He rested against the arms Crowley had wrapped around him, panting and gasping as he rocked his pelvis, gyrating his hips.

“Careful, angel,” admonished Crowley.

He kissed him, biting his lower lip in reproach then deepening the kiss until Aziraphale was moaning in his mouth. Since he was holding him, Aziraphale took the opportunity to bury a hand in red hair. Crowley allowed it for as long as they kissed. Then he grabbed his wrist and guided him back to the armrest. When Aziraphale had a grip, he removed his support and placed his hands once again on Aziraphale’s thighs, rubbing in slow circles.

“Move,” he ordered with a jerk of his hips.

Aziraphale’s mouth opened in a whimper. Crowley knew he wanted more, so much more. He brushed a nipple, pinched it and chuckled low as his angel spasmed around him. Aziraphale was lifting himself up again, and lowering, over and over, trying and failing to set a pace. Sometimes he would go weak and end up impaling himself, crying out in pleasure. Crowley even suspected he did that on purpose.

Crowley hummed his encouragement, clinging to his self-control and enjoying the show. He could see his angel straining, his strength starting to fail him. Pleasure, discomfort and frustration were slowly driving him crazy as he couldn’t get what he wanted. Each stimulation Crowley granted him made him whimper and moan desperately.

Crowley, too, was starting to reach his limit. Seeing Aziraphale abandoned in almost ecstasy, desperately seeking more, aroused him to no end. The angel was clenching around him and Crowley couldn’t keep groans from escaping him.

“Cro… Crowley,” whined Aziraphale.

And that was it. He grabbed his ass, immobilizing him. Aziraphale trembled and whimpered in want, shaking his head as he thought Crowley was stopping him. He almost sobbed as Crowley lifted him, nearly sliding out.

“Hold tight,” warned Crowley.

Aziraphale obeyed on reflex, clenching his hands on the armrest, and Crowley slammed back into him, lowering his angel’s hips as he rocked his forward.

“Aaah! Ahh!”

His angel screamed and cried in pleasure, becoming incoherent as Crowley set a fast pace, going deep and hard, manhandling him with ease. Aziraphale had thrown his head back, his arms and legs were shaking in exertion, his nails digging in the wood of the throne as he tried not to let go. The discomfort, the necessity of holding himself, decoupled his sensations, making each rough thrust inside him ever more delicious and intense.

Crowley was losing his rhythm, his angel was wailing from the continued battering, overwhelmed and so close. For an instant Crowley considered taking him in hand, but that would mean slowing down, and he knew just how much Aziraphale loved coming from _only_ being taken.

Aziraphale gave a distressed whine as he felt his arms give out, then screamed in surprised relief and ecstasy. Crowley, gathering all his strength, had risen from his throne and slammed Aziraphale on his desk. The combination of the sudden cold and Crowley’s deep thrusts made the angel’s insides tighten as he orgasmed with a broken cry. He whimpered as he felt Crowley give shallower movements, then bury himself to the hilt and release with a groan. Crowley kept rocking forward, deep, so deep and Aziraphale was shaking and coming undone with him.

Hands still clinging to his hips, Crowley had fallen on him and was slowly sucking a hickey on his throat. Aziraphale was boneless underneath him, breathing erratically and trying to get his scrambled brain to make sense again.

“Stay,” pleaded Aziraphale as he felt Crowley move.

In reply, he felt him push deeper and wrap his arms around him. He moaned and shivered in delight. Crowley hummed as his angel tangled his fingers in his hair.

“Dearest?”

“Mmm?”

“If this is how you intend to ‘punish’ me for messing with your plants, I’m afraid that’s not going to be a very effective deterrent… Truth be told, more like encouragement.”

“You bastard,” laughed Crowley, nuzzling his face in Aziraphale’s neck and biting him. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by PollyPocalypse (https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyPocalypse/pseuds/PollyPocalypse) <3 
> 
> As usual thank you to all those who left comments and kudos !
> 
> (And you have a surprise at the end of this chapter ! Thank you so so so so so so much psyclopathe <3

The planning for the heist was going smoothly. Crowley had made a detailed presentation to Aziraphale (on a board, with drawings and a retractable snake pen to point out the important parts) with a precise time frame so they could break into the estate right when the owner and most of his guards would be busy elsewhere.

Crowley was currently in the shop to buy supplies, bags, hand trolley, ropes, protective paper and manila paper, a lock pick set, shovels, light hoes, miners’ hats, torches, gloves, boots and coveralls (because if his angel damaged his shoes and clothes he would never hear the end of it). As he was browsing, he felt his phone vibrate and the familiar music he had chosen for Aziraphale blared into the little shop.

“ _I'm an angel with a shotgun, shotgun, shotgun. An angel with a shotgun, shotgun, shotgun._ ” (1)

Smiling at the dirty looks he received from other patrons, Crowley took his sweet time to pick up the phone.

“Yes, angel?”

“Can you get some fresh fruits on your way home? I feel like eating strawberries, and maybe some raspberries and cherries!”

The sound of Aziraphale moving in the library washed over him. He touched his bracelet and felt the answering warmth.

“Sure, angel, want that pie you saw in the bakery? I know you said it was too big but I’ll make an effort and eat some with you.”

Crowley hissed at the woman melting at his gentle tone and words, adding a bit of snakey bits to scare her out of the tools section.

“Oh, that would be lovely. And don’t force yourself, dear, Mister Shadwell and dear Madame Tracy are going to pay us a visit.”

“What for?”

“It happens that Mister Shadwell has lots of old texts, reports and other such things in his possession. That is going to help with our endeavour.”

“I see.”

“They will come on Friday, a bit before closing hours.” 

Crowley was still a little sore to discover he’d been played by the old fool. To think Aziraphale had been using his services too. That his too-gullible angel had been tricked wasn’t so surprising, what with thinking that “Sergeant Milk Bottle” was an alias… But Crowley? It was his laziness that had been his downfall; he had never looked at that freaking ledger. Well, Crowley wasn’t a sore loser. He would be cordial to the man, for Madame Tracy’s sake. She was an interesting lady and he would forever be thankful she had lent her body to Aziraphale. 

He went to pay for his purchases and smiled as he pulled out only pennies, counting them slowly and losing a few here and there. The woman kept her smile and cool during the whole operation. She would find a twenty in her pant pocket later that night and discover her washing machine that made strange noises and that she couldn’t afford to change was miraculously working again.

Unloading the Bentley into the lobby was a pain, putting everything into the elevator was too. Crowley consoled himself by thinking about how he was hogging the elevator for himself and bothering all his neighbours, not to mention his concierge, who looked a hair away (and the poor man was bald) from apoplexy from worrying about his impeccable lino.

Once everything was stuffed into the elevator, Crowley wondered how he was going to fit himself in there too. He hadn’t been packing the Tetris way. A throat cleared behind him in that conceited manner older people had to let you know you were in their way.

“Miss Aigrie,” acknowledged Crowley.

“Anthony,” she replied, eyeing the elevator’s content.

She kicked a few things to the side, lifted a shovel out of the way and handed it to Crowley, and settled in. Crowley groaned, contorted himself in, managed to get the shovel back inside too, and tried to reach for the elevator’s buttons, but didn’t manage.

“Let me, lad,” assured Miss Aigrie.

With a mischievous smile Crowley recognized all too well, she pushed all the floors.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she snickered.

“Like a duck in a pond,” mumbled Crowley.

He was flattened against the wall, standing on only one leg, the other one draped above one of the trollies. One of his hands was holding the shovel so it wouldn’t fall on Miss Aigrie, the other bracing him on the wall.

“Would be a shame if we got stuck, hey?”

“Margaret, I swear...” warned Crowley, trying to hide his glee at his neighbour’s antics.

“How is Aziraphale doing? I do hope all this isn’t to hide his corpse.”

Crowley started at her as if she had grown a second head.

“I’d never hurt him,” he protested.

Miss Aigrie smiled gently and, like a good little sadist, patted his cheek. Crowley tried to swat her hand but had to refrain as he nearly toppled over. So he hissed and tried to bite her hand instead. He received another pat on the cheek for his trouble.

“I know that, lad, it’s just you have everything to wrap a body and dig a hole to stuff it in. But it’s true you don’t have anything to cut it into pieces.”

“Margaret?”

“Yes?”

“Your mind is a truly fascinating thing.”

“Why thank you, lad. Can’t say the same for you. Send my regards to Aziraphale.”

On those words, Miss Aigrie stepped out of the elevator, grinned at him as she pushed all the buttons again and sent him back, shouting and cursing, to the lobby. 

Finally inside his flat, Crowley stored everything in the plant room, yelled a bit at his plants and puttered about before dropping any pretence and taking his Bentley to get back to his angel. He was feeling restless without knowing why.

Crowley parked in his usual forbidden spot, crossed the street in the middle of it and enjoyed the honks and screams he received. He opened the door with cheer, enjoying the jingle of the bell announcing his arrival.

“Angel!” he called out, just for the sake of hearing Dalorian groan.

And then he froze. A smell of smoke assaulted his nose. And suddenly it seemed all encompassing. A flame caught his gaze. And the scene changed. Burning paper. An inferno. Aziraphale. Fire danced before his dilated all-yellow eyes. _Aziraphale_. He could see the blaze reflected on his shades, engulfing everything. _Aziraphale_. Crowley staggered backwards, slamming against the door and barely catching himself on the threshold.

“Aziraphale!” he gasped, unable to scream.

He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to. He couldn’t. _Aziraphale_. His eyes burnt. Fire. His throat felt raw. _Aziraphale_. A distant part of his brain knew he was spiralling. The booksh… library wasn’t burning. _Aziraphale_. He didn’t feel him! _Aziraphale_! Crowley desperately reached for his wrist and pressed the bond bracelet, keeping his hand there.

“Aziraphale!” he choked.

The seconds it took for an answering warmth to respond to his touch seemed an eternity. Crowley slid on the floor hissing at Lilly and Dalorian as they both hurried to his side and hovered above him at a loss. _Aziraphale_. Safe. He could feel the angel. Sense his presence. Safe.

Safe. Crowley took a gulp of air, clearing his mind. The library wasn’t burning. Aziraphale was safe.

Crowley scrambled back to his feet, abject terror giving way to a terrible anger. In seconds he was moving again, reaching for the fucking candle that had greeted him and sent him into that terrible flashback. He extinguished it between his fingers then crushed it for good measure. Other candles were scattered into the room and he got to them quickly and efficiently.

“Are you crazsssssy?” growled Crowley.

Both Dalorian and Lilly looked scared as he turned (fortunately still shielded) eyes to them. He suspected he looked like a lunatic.

“Who lightsssss fucking candlesssss in a library?!” he screamed.

He clamped his hand back on the bracelet and felt the answering touch. Lingering. Then he could hear movement from the backroom. Aziraphale.

“But… they weren’t next to any loose paper! And they all had holders! And we have the fire extinguisher at hand! And we are in the room!” protested Lilly.

Fortunately for her, Aziraphale arrived before Crowley could turn on her.

“Crowley? Oh dearest! What happened?”

His angel reached for him and Crowley wrapped himself around him, nuzzling his face into his perfumed neck. No hint of smoke. Just his pleasing comforting scent. Crowley curled harder around him, as if trying to engulf him, hide him from the world.

Nervous hands combed his hair, caressed his back, kisses rained on the top of his head. Soft words were murmured. He could feel Aziraphale move in his hold, not trying to break it, but taking in his surroundings to try and understand why Crowley was clinging to him for dear life.

“Oh… candles…” realized Aziraphale.

“I… I’m sorry, Mister Fell,” sobbed Lilly.

Aziraphale kept petting Crowley, not moving an inch. Crowley didn’t care that he had an audience.

“It’s alright, dear--” started Aziraphale began.

“No it’ssss not,” grumbled Crowley.

The angel tutted at him and Crowley smiled into his neck, breathing that heady familiar scent in deeply.

“But please refrain from using candles in the library. You see, I had a bit of… an accident. The bookshop burned and poor Crowley…”

“The bookshop burned?! When?!” exclaimed Lilly.

Dalorian made a sound that Crowley identified as meaning he knew the bookshop hadn’t burnt, since his own shop had been right next to it.

“Oh no, I mean… I well… er…”

“Another bookshop. Aziraphale was stuck in it when it burnt. I was waiting for him in the car a block away,” smoothly explained Crowley.

“Oh, that must have been terrible…” gasped Lilly.

Both she and Dalorian kept talking, but Crowley had tuned them out. After a few moments, he uncoiled from Aziraphale, keeping close and fingers linked. Aziraphale was looking at him so softly. Crowley made a face. So much for being cool and confident. Without a word he tugged Aziraphale away, and the angel went without protests. Crowley directed him to the back room, the sofa, made him sit. Crowley lay on the couch, head on Aziraphale’s lap, his face buried at the junction of thigh and waist. Aziraphale grabbed his book, slid his fingers in Crowley’s hair and all was right with the world again. 

## ***

Crowley was dejected as he installed the nook for his reading session. It had been two Tuesdays already that Nathan hadn’t showed up. He loved humans, really, but some things just rubbed him the wrong way. He didn’t even know what he could do. Aziraphale had tried the church thing, Crowley had placed hints, forced “accidental” meetings, anything that had a chance of making those narrow-minded people reconsider but it hadn’t worked.

He had slept all of yesterday and most of Tuesday away in a fit of bad mood, only waking up enough to answer the small bursts of warmth from the bond bracelet. Not even Aziraphale sliding in bed with him to cuddle him and stroke his hair had been able to make him stop moping.

Screams, giggles and hurried footsteps, as well as a stern reminder not to run in the library, announced the arrival of his little hellions. Crowley stretched himself, his spine bending with the ease of a spine not knowing what a normal one should be able to do. Adjusting his glasses on his nose, Crowley went and curled on his cushion just as his charges came barrelling in, already fighting for the closest place next to Crowley. 

“Alright, I see you’re full of energy today.”

The children didn’t seem able to stay put, as could happen sometimes. Not even showing them the book he had chosen for them managed to grant him their attention.

“How about a yelling contest before we start?” proposed Crowley.

That got them all to stop and turn to him, expectant and curious. They needed to blow off some steam and so did he.

“I’ll start,” he announced.

And then Crowley started a low, angry hiss that turned into a full scream. The children watched him with round eyes and joined him seconds later, trying to outdo each other, adding imitation of animal’s roars and giggling madly. Soon enough they were tired, and gathered without prompt around Crowley.

“Well, that was some racket,” remarked a familiar voice.

Crowley turned to his approaching angel with a sly smirk and blinked. Clinging to Aziraphale’s old fashioned pants was a very familiar face. The boy left Aziraphale’s side and threw himself at Crowley’s neck.

“I’m back! I missed you!”

“We are all glad to have you back,” greeted Crowley.

As Nathan caught up with his friends, Crowley glanced at his angel, mouthing: “what did you do?” Aziraphale looked at him in puzzlement and turned to leave.

“Wait! Zira! You have to kiss Crowley, you always kiss Crowley when you leave us!” demanded Nathan.

He had rushed to grab hold of Aziraphale’s hand and was dragging an unresisting angel to Crowley.

“Now kiss! Mum said love trumps all!” he ordered, chortling.

Crowley’s surprise was muffled by Aziraphale kissing him gently and amorously combing his hands through his hair. Then he bid them a good read and escaped.

As soon as the session ended and all the hellions were back with their parents, Crowley hunted down Aziraphale. Dalorian and Lilly pointed him to the back room, the usual hiding spot. And sure enough, here was his angel, working on Crowley’s photos for their heist.

“Angel, what did you do?” he demanded.

Aziraphale lifted his head from his work, his little glasses on the tip of his nose.

“Well I managed to find another three families, unfortunately one of them has no remaining living kin. I’m waiting for a few contacts of mine, and Shadwell, and I will be done.”

Crowley strode over to Aziraphale’s desk and planted himself on top of it, one leg propped up on his angel’s armrest. He bent to him, snatching the ridiculously charming reading glasses off and hissed in his face:

“Sssspit it out.”

“What do you mean, dear?”

“Don’t “dear” me, angel. Nathan said his mother was all for love now?”

“Oh, that!” exclaimed Aziraphale, an amused glint in his eyes.

“What did you do? I know you did something.”

“People can have a change of heart, dearest.” 

Crowley removed his shades and gave his angel his most doubtful look, adding a dose of exasperation. Sometimes he didn’t know if he wanted to kiss the angel or throttle him. The answer to that question was that he wanted to ravish him until he couldn’t look so smug. Aziraphale tugged on his bowtie, faking coyness while evading Crowley’s gaze and added:

“Especially if they got a visit from a messenger of God in their dreams. Happens.”

“Oh, you glorious bastard!”

Aziraphale was practically lifted from his chair as Crowley grabbed his face and kissed him passionately. The angel laughed into the kiss but soon started moaning, as Crowley claimed his mouth in multiple kisses. A startled hitch followed as Crowley slithered down from the desk to press a leg in between those of his angel. Crowley nipped his way up to Aziraphale’s ear.

“Tell me angel, how do you feel about making love in a public place?” he whispered huskily.

“I… oh… that… wouldn’t be… er… proper… there is a… a… a perfectly empty room upstairs,” replied Aziraphale.

Fine with him. Crowley hoisted Aziraphale up then threw him above his shoulder as he strode to the stairs. The squeals of half-aroused, half-delighted protest from his angel only made him walk faster. He intended to make love to his angel slowly, taking all his time to undo him. 

Crowley tossed his angel on the bed, making him huff then giggle madly. Aziraphale removed his shoes then settled on the bed so he could comfortably watch Crowley, smiling fondly at the demon. Crowley shook off his vest, letting it pool on the floor, then he removed his scarf and sent it flying. His golden eyes never left his angel, who was observing him as he would a delicious pastry.

“Me acting like a bastard really pleases you, doesn’t it?” wondered Aziraphale.

“Everything about you pleases me, angel,” replied Crowley.

He took a few steps toward the bed, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, enjoying how Aziraphale’s gaze followed his fingers, how a pink tongue licked suddenly-dried lips.

“But especially your kindness,” added Crowley.

Aziraphale flushed prettily, and even more as Crowley rolled his shoulders, letting his shirt slide off then tossing it away, it got caught at the foot of the bed. Crowley climbed on the mattress, crawling slowly toward his angel. He bracketed the angel’s legs with his own, but stayed far enough so that Aziraphale’s hand could only brush him but not touch him. Crowley then lifted himself on his knees and trailed his fingers down his chest to his belt. With a sound of metal, he unclasped it, then pulled it off in one go, a show of dexterity.

Wiggling on the bed, Aziraphale lowered himself just enough to be able to slip his fingers in the recently vacated loops of Crowley’s pants and pulled. Crowley caught his wrists, sliding his hands down them and bending to kiss his angel, before pushing him back down.

Smirking, Crowley popped open the button of his far-too-tight jeans, then lowered the fly. His dark underwear was straining. Slipping his hands in his pants, Crowley began to push them down, enjoying the barely contained desire in his angel’s eyes.

Crowley managed to reach his thighs, then closed his legs to keep going. And got stuck. Frowning, Crowley pushed down harder, tugged, twisted, squirmed, cursed. He ended up falling on his side, still trying to get the damn things off! He pulled some more, started kicking his legs. The jeans didn’t budge. Fuck it! He never put them on or off without a miracle and now he knew why!

Breathless laughter got Crowley’s attention. His angel, the traitor, was crying in mirth, almost silently as he clutched his belly and tried to breathe through his amusement.

“Sssstop it,” groused Crowley, red faced but smiling anyway.

“You… look like a…. snake failing to…. to shed his skin!” chortled Aziraphale, between gasps of hilarity.

“Bastard,” deadpanned Crowley.

He snapped his fingers, sending the wretched things to oblivion. Aziraphale kept snickering, then sobered up with a strangled gasp of surprise as Crowley unceremoniously grabbed between his legs. Crowley massaged none-too-gently, rubbing and pushing with his palm. Soon Aziraphale was breathless for a completely different reason, panting heavily.

“Not so cheeky now, angel,” teased Crowley.

But palming him wasn’t what he had planned. With a last long stroke he stopped and reached instead for the buttons of Aziraphale’s waistcoat. He undid them slowly, trailing his palms on Aziraphale’s body, through the shirt, rubbing gently. His angel sighed in contentment and reached for him, placing his hands on Crowley’s thighs, coaxing him forward so he could sit on his angel as he worked on undressing him.

Crowley parted the unbuttoned shirt, grazing the angel’s sides, palming his way up and down, massaging. He caressed the shoulders, sliding the shirt down to the elbow. Crowley hummed as his angel scratched gently at his hips, trailing manicured fingers everywhere he could reach, stroking Crowley’s member a few times.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale whispered amorously.

Crowley flushed and grunted, then tweaked a nipple between his fingers. Aziraphale arched under his touch and Crowley took this opportunity to remove his waistcoat and shirt. Then he grabbed those wandering hands and kissed them. He guided one into his hair, hearing Aziraphale laugh at that, and began nipping and kissing his way down the other arm, lowering on his angel as he devoured him. Hickeys would appear in his wake, on the pulse of the wrist, in the crook of the elbow, on the shoulder, many on the neck, on the collarbone, on nipples where Crowley’s attention lingered to suck and nibble until Aziraphale whined and pulled on red hair for mercy.

Chuckling and licking his lips, Crowley went in for a deep lingering kiss, enjoying how Aziraphale tried to keep him there a little longer. Crowley made his way back down, kisses and wicked fingers going back to rediscovering his sighing angel. He buried his hands in Aziraphale’s pants, cupping his buttocks and both he and Aziraphale moaned as the angel spread his legs in response, welcoming Crowley against him with abandoned shameless desire.

“I love the weight of you on me,” panted Aziraphale.

“Perfect, because I love having you underneath me.”

They kissed again, with that same slowness, as Crowley explored his angel’s familiar mouth. They parted and Crowley licked his lips as he grinned wickedly. Still cupping Aziraphale’s delicious ample ass, he lowered himself to the front of his angel’s pants, where Aziraphale’s enjoyment was pretty clear. Then, he set to unbutton those pants using only his teeth and tongue, nuzzling and rubbing to aid in his endeavour. Aziraphale dissolved into moans and gasps, his hands shaking in Crowley’s hair. 

Aziraphale ended up with his fingers in his own curls as he tried to contain himself, whining desperately when Crowley finally managed to free him. He wailed as Crowley gave a long lap at his member before leaving him, grabbing both his legs to pull off his pants and underwear.

“You’re a wily old serpent,” mumbled Aziraphale, catching up his breath.

Crowley tongued at his sock garters and Aziraphale laid his head back down in a sigh, resigned at being lavished again with slow torturous attention. Which is exactly what Crowley did, kissing and marking his way down a leg, caressing the other one with clever fingers. He took all his time on the thighs, claiming that quivering flesh and knowing full well his hair was brushing in a maddening manner against a far more sensitive part. As he did so, he snapped his fingers to lube them and started rubbing at Aziraphale’s entrance, the angel turning into a mess of desperate writhing and moans. Crowley moved from thighs up to hipbones, giving a teasing kiss on Aziraphale’s arousal as he changed sides.

Finally he rose again, still lovingly trailing his fingers on his angel’s feverish skin as he observed his work. Aziraphale was trembling, heaving, eyes half lidded, a flush spreading on his cheeks. The hickeys were starting to appear, proving just how long Crowley had been worshipping his angel.

“Turn on your stomach, angel,” he requested.

Aziraphale did so without question. Crowley sat back, positioning himself between lubed buttocks. His angel whined in need but Crowley simply settled there, sliding against his entrance. He dug his fingers into the dips at Aziraphale’s back and the angel groaned in pleasure, then moaned at that made him move his hips forward into the friction of the mattress.

Crowley watched him, his large back, the delicate arch of his spine, his lovely neck, his nape exposed, white curls bracketing it. Crowley sank his teeth there, making Aziraphale yelp, then kissed and nibbled, going back to marking his white offered flesh. Nape, neck, shoulders, shoulder blades, muscles, spine, dips at the lower back, one ass cheek. Then he went back up, returning to his position and rubbing at Aziraphale’s entrance.

“How do you want me, angel?” he asked.

“Inside me,” came the desperate answer.

Chuckling, Crowley braced himself on the angel’s lower back and pushed in, sinking torturously slowly, letting Aziraphale feel each inch of him as he entered him, filling him. Wanton whimpers encouraged him. Aziraphale had reached from behind, grabbing Crowley’s hips and scratching him as he tried to get more. Once fully buried, Crowley stopped moving, letting them both enjoy the feeling of being joined so deeply and intimately.

“You always want me inside you,” teased Crowley. Aziraphale simply sobbed in yearning, “I meant do you want me to make love to you slowly and tenderly?”

Crowley rolled his hips forward, going deep before slowly retreating and lazily pushing back inside.

“Or roughly and deeply?” 

He snapped his pelvis forward, startling a scream from Aziraphale as he thrust deep and hard a few times. Then he settled again, unmoving as he petted his angel, waiting for his decision.

“However you want,” panted Aziraphale.

Usually when taking the angel from behind, they tended to choose the rough way. Not today. Crowley wanted to keep taking his time, to undo Aziraphale with tenderness, giving them both a profoundly numbing orgasm that would tingle in their whole body.

Crowley lay on his angel fully, pressing on his back, letting him carry his whole weight. He bracketed his legs against those of the angel, so he could move easily and as he pleased . He dug one hand under Aziraphale, one on his full thigh, the other on his chest, brushing a nipple.

“I’ll take you slowly, then,” he whispered in his ear before nuzzling his face into his neck.

Aziraphale laced his fingers with Crowley’s and gave a sigh of satisfaction. Neither of them moved after that, taking simple pleasure in resting enlaced together. Finally Crowley began rolling and gyrating his hips, eliciting pants and moans, the angel accompanying all of his movements but not trying to hurry them. They joined in this deep lazy rhythm, stopping fully when one of them got too close, wanting this to last.

“Is it good for you, angel?” asked Crowley.

He changed their position slightly, sinking deeper and making his movements even more languid.

“Yes Crowley, yes. It feels so good,” moaned Aziraphale.

Crowley hummed, nibbling gently at his angel’s neck.

“You’re so good to me,” continued Aziraphale.

That made Crowley lose his rhythm slightly. 

“You’re so good,” cautiously whispered Aziraphale. 

Crowley jerked deeper, thrusting a bit harder and faster. His hold on the angel tightened, his face hidden in that perfumed neck.

“So good, Crowley. You’re so good. So clever… so tender… “

Each word earned Aziraphale an uncontrolled thrust, a harsher press into the mattress.

“So good, my demon.”

Crowley bit him and Aziraphale cried in bliss, ignoring the warning. Just as Crowley hoped he would.

“So considerate, so loving, my wily serpent.”

With a groan, Crowley went faster, chasing both their ecstasy. His whole body slid on Aziraphale, as he rocked them together.

“Yes, just like that, Crowley, so good, so good. You’re so good, my demon.”

Aziraphale’s voice was cracking, Crowley knew he was close. He licked his neck and lifted his angel’s hips just enough to join them deeper and press the angel’s member just the right way into the mattress. With a few profound thrusts of Crowley’s hips, Aziraphale shattered, moaning as he clenched around Crowley, taking him with him in his orgasm. Crowley jerked with abandon inside his angel, and hummed in pleasure as Aziraphale milked him with deliberate, spasmodic clenches of his inside. 

They both collapsed back on the bed, Crowley still buried in that delicious heat and not planning to move. He nuzzled his face to Aziraphale’s and kissed him. Satiated, Crowley basked in his afterglow.

“Mister Fell?” called Dalorian from under the stairs.

“For fuck’s sake,” grumbled Crowley.

“Is it closing time already?” wondered Aziraphale.

Crowley blindly patted the bed in search of his watch, which obediently let him find it and gave him the time.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Mister Fell? Are you up there?”

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose in contrariety and straitened up, letting Crowley slip out of him. Crowley grabbed him, preventing him from escaping their embrace.

“I’ll deal with it, angel, stay here. I’m coming right back.”

Snapping some clothes on and fixing his hair with a pass of his fingers, Crowley went down to close the library with Dalorian. He pretended that Aziraphale had a migraine so the old man wouldn’t get suspicious. Then he hurried back to Aziraphale, hoping the angel hadn’t moved. He paused on the stairs and decided to get some food to his angel. He could bet he had gotten peckish.

With that in mind he entered the kitchen, and his legs almost gave out at what greeted him. He leaned on the wall for support. Aziraphale, wearing nothing but his ugly tartan slippers and… Crowley’s shirt. The angel was bent into the fridge, giving a nice view of his legs and ass, of all the hickeys that adorned his skin. Aziraphale turned to place the strawberries on the plate waiting for them on the table, already containing whipped cream and an orange for Crowley to peel.

“Oh here you are, dearest. I just wanted a nibble,” explained the angel.

Crowley slithered into the room, slowly starting to circle Aziraphale. The angel didn’t notice, busy making hot cocoa to go with his snack.

“I didn’t dress, since we were supposed to cuddle and I love the feel of your naked skin on me.”

Crowley _ngked_ and licked his lips, getting slowly closer as his half circles got smaller.

“I took the liberty of putting on your shirt. It was at the end of the bed and I don’t know where you tossed my clothes. You will have to iron them out, dear. I hope you don’t mind, but then you steal my shirts all the time, so…”

Crowley’s shirt had done the smart thing when the angel had put it on: it had enlarged and accommodated the angel just fine as to not make him sad. Crowley’s things knew better than to disappoint - or worse, hurt - the angel.

“I do get why you do it, though, I do enjoy having your smell on me,” continued Aziraphale. 

On those words, the angel put down his cocoa and turned to be faced with dilated yellow eyes, dangerously focused on him.

“Oh,” gasped Aziraphale at the positively hungry look. 

Crowley uncoiled and struck, grabbing Aziraphale by the hips and hoisting him up on the table, crowding into his spread legs and kissing the ensuing cry of surprise out of his mouth. Aziraphale had wrapped his arms and legs around Crowley to keep his balance and melted into the kiss, releasing his tense hold into a welcoming and encouraging one.

“Crowley?” asked Aziraphale.

That was all he had the time to say as Crowley was back to licking into his mouth, pressing their bodies together as he dragged Aziraphale closer by his hips. At the same time he lowered him on the table. Crowley stopped ravishing his mouth to nip at an ear.

“I’m going to wreck you, angel,” promised Crowley.

“Good grief,” moaned Aziraphale, shuddering in anticipation.

Crowley had splayed his hand on Aziraphale’s torso, keeping him on the table, and was trailing his eyes down his skin, gazing at his marks on the soft flesh, smirking at the concentration of them on the thighs. He gently adjusted the dark shirt on his angel, enjoying the stark contrast against the white and rosy skin.

“Oh… it’s the shirt,” realized Aziraphale, suddenly understanding why Crowley was running hot. 

Crowley undid his belt and freed himself, then took position at Aziraphale’s still slick entrance. The angel beamed at Crowley and threw his head back, tilting his head just so to keep eye contact, half-lidded blue eyes twinkling. An offer, a surrender. Crowley hoisted up his legs a little and pushed in, as deep as he could get. He felt the angel’s legs close around his waist in encouragement. But Crowley didn’t move, staying buried. Licking his lips, Crowley reached for a strawberry, dipped it in whipped cream and brought it to Aziraphale’s lips.

The angel blinked but opened his mouth and let Crowley feed him the fruit. He hummed at the taste and wriggled, then gasped as that made Crowley move inside him. Crowley smirked at him, licking his lips, and rolled his hips, making Aziraphale pant. He then presented him with a new strawberry and watched him eat it with the same fascination as usual. As Aziraphale made a noise of appreciation he ground into him, making him cry.

“Do you have any idea how erotic it is to watch you eat, Aziraphale?” he wondered, thrusting in and out in a languorous pace.

Still sensitive from his previous orgasm, Aziraphale couldn’t articulate anything, whimpering and trying to make Crowley move faster. But Crowley controlled the rhythm and, with a hand on his chest, kept him put. Teasingly, he rubbed a nipple and Aziraphale moaned and arched.

“More… Crowley… more…”

Crowley pushed deep, leaning with all his weight on his angel, and stilled. Aziraphale whined and wriggled. Then Crowley took a strawberry and gave it to Aziraphale. The angel levelled a frustrated glare at him and aggressively bit into the strawberry. Crowley took him slowly as he chewed. As the angel cried and wailed underneath him, some whipped cream smudged at the corner of his lips. Crowley bent to lick it away and refused Aziraphale a kiss, making the angel sob. Unable to resist him, Crowley relented, kissing him gently, tasting the food he had fed him and leaving him panting.

He pressed another strawberry to his angel’s lips and groaned as Aziraphale licked the whipped cream off his fingers, sucking gently on them. Crowley thrusted earnestly into his angel, loving how Aziraphale grabbed his wrists and clung to his arms as he arched and screamed underneath him. After a last grind, Crowley stopped again. Aziraphale was shaking with need, incoherently trying to make Crowley move again.

Gently Crowley scratched his way down Aziraphale’s hips to his thighs, and made the angel release his hold around his waist. Then he lifted his legs, gathering them both on his left arm before lowering them slowly to the table, making Aziraphale shudder and moan as Crowley was still deep inside him.

“On your side, angel,” he instructed as he snapped the tray to the sink.

Shaking, Aziraphale did as told, panting as Crowley followed his movements so he never slipped out of him.

“Now on your stomach.”

Aziraphale whimpered and, as he turned, Crowley dragged him a little backward and helped him lower his legs until he touched the floor. Aziraphale was now bent over the table, his ass in the air, Crowley filling him still.

The angel moaned as Crowley racked his fingers up his legs, dug into his thighs, moved to his hips and massaged his lower back. Crowley admired the hickeys a bit before gently adjusting his own shirt on his angel, so that it graced his ass but didn’t cover it. Then he slightly rolled up the sleeves to see a hint of Aziraphale’s arms, and tugged at the collar to see his neck and the marks there. Finally, he laced his fingers with Aziraphale’s and grabbed his other wrist, then lifted the angel’s arms slowly and guided them to the end of the table, straining them just a tad.

“Grab the table, angel,” he requested huskily. 

“Oh goodness gracious.”

Manicured fingers closed around the wood. Crowley ground his hips forward, took hold of his angel’s hips then lowered his mouth to his ear.

“Yes?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” begged Aziraphale.

Crowley didn’t make him wait any longer. He almost slipped out, only to slam back in total abandon. Aziraphale screamed and Crowley gave him what he had promised, taking him fast, hard, rough and impossibly deep. His angel was writhing underneath him, wailing from the continued battering, nearly overwhelmed and crying incoherently for more. Crowley obliged, enjoying the sight of his desperate angel, the way he arched his back and shook his head, and how his nails dug into the wood.

“I’m close, angel,” groaned Crowley, not slowing down.

He felt Aziraphale clench around him and when the angel tried to speak, nothing but moans and cries got out. Crowley snaked a hand under the table and grabbed his angel’s leaking member, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Aziraphale sobbed in ecstasy and, after a few moments, screamed as he climaxed, clenching around Crowley, who gritted his teeth and kept going with his unforgiving rhythm, rocking his angel on the table until he stopped shaking and went lax underneath him. Then Crowley closed his eyes and released as deeply as he could, gyrating his hips as he rode his orgasm.

As he knew Aziraphale always wished, he stayed there, catching his breath and trailed a hand under his shirt, caressing his angel’s back as he admired his work. His angel was thoroughly debauched, marked and glowing with joy.

“Alright there, angel?”

“Yes, dearest.”

“Cuddles?”

“Would you carry me upstairs?” coyly asked Aziraphale, with that look that told Crowley he knew he would be granted anything.

Slipping out of his pliant angel, Crowley snapped them clean and gathered his bratty angel in his arms in a princess hold. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest with a deep satisfied sigh. Crowley gave him an adoring kiss on the tip of his nose as he used a miracle to be able to carry him to the bed. 

## ***

“Well well well, what do we have here?” singsonged Crowley.

He sauntered to his mint bushes, brushing his fingers on the pretty ones; odorant, green, small but tasty leaves, then dug his nails into the pot of one that didn’t look so good. Its colour was a dirty green, it was slightly shrivelled and it shook terribly.

“You have everything you need. All your little friends are reaching my demands,” Crowley stopped to glare at the plants and hissed “at least for now” He turned back to his prey: “but you don’t. You fail me. You know what that means, don’t you?”

Crowley grabbed the pot and turned slowly on his heels, showing off his trophy to all the other plants.

“What happens to failures?”

He squinted, doing another round of the room. It had been a while since he had had to make a punishment. He was going to make it memorable.

“They get sent to the shredder!” he yelled.

Rustles of leaves could be heard everywhere, as well as the rattling of pots. It was high time his plants turned over a new leaf.

“Say goodbye to your little friend.”

Crowley turned on his heels, ready to saunter down the corridor to the kitchen with loud steps so they would all know what was happening. And froze. At the entrance of the room stood Aziraphale, still with his coat on. Crowley hadn’t heard him enter. Aziraphale’s face was closed off, only a frown giving a hint of his mood. But his hands… they were a flurry of movements, caressing the hem of his waistcoat between his fingers, tugging, adjusting buttons, reaching for the bowtie…

“My dear, do you need to be so stern with them?”

Aziraphale and his uses of euphemisms.

“Yesss.”

Crowley hated that his speech hissed. He only berated his plants when Aziraphale was around, the real scolding, menacing and executioning always happened when he wasn’t. It had come naturally to Crowley, this unspoken rule. Now he was starting to guess why. The angel was going to poke his nose into Crowley’s private business. Crowley hadn’t wanted that.

“My plantssss, my rulessss. I don’t messssss with your booksss, you don’t messss with my plantssss.” 

He hadn’t wanted the angel to see this part of him. And now Crowley felt defensive. He was a demon, for fuck’s sake. The plants had stopped shaking and were very still, eerily still, they were holding their photosynthesis since they couldn’t hold their breath.

Still firmly holding the pot, Crowley left the room and felt Aziraphale follow. Damn it. He knew the angel wouldn’t let it go. At least now they wouldn’t be doing this in front of his plants.

“Crowley, what are you doing to do with it?”

And here they were. Crowley knew Aziraphale had heard him.

“Shredder.”

“Maybe it just needs a little bit more time?”

“Got plenty of it.”

“Then just a bit more help, to get its bearings?”

“Got all it needed.”

Aziraphale’s hand went to rest on Crowley’s just as he was about to toss the plant.

“Crowley, give it another chance?”

“No.”

He threw the plant. Aziraphale caught it. As Crowley knew he would. He rolled his eyes and lifted his hands to the Heavens in a show of exasperation.

“I don’t want rejects!” angrily growled Crowley.

“Well, I do!” harshly announced Aziraphale.

That almost shook Crowley, as well as the tears welling up in the angel’s eyes. Crowley made a mocking face.

“Of course you do,” he spat. 

Aziraphale was hugging the pot to his chest protectively.

“You could be a little more…” haughtily started Aziraphale with his holier-than-thou attitude.

“I’m a demon!” Crowley reminded him.

“A kind one,” argued Aziraphale.

Crowley hissed in his angel’s face. He almost made a grab for the plant but thought better of it.

“I’m a demon, Aziraphale. Deal with it. Don’t try to change me!” 

A shocked gasp. Aziraphale straightened. Crowley had managed to ruffle his feathers good and proper, it seemed. Well Aziraphale had lifted his scales, too!

“I’m not trying to change you.”

“You are. Wanting me to be niccce to my plantssss! Wanting me to only make certain kinds of mischief!”

“Crowley, do not make me responsible for your choices! But for the plants, I never asked you to change anything! You decided to adjust your kind of plotting because that is what you wanted! You were already pretty close to it before getting free from hell!”

“Sssso you admit it about the plantssss!”

Crowley was being an ass. A bad faith one. He knew it.

“I haven’t said anything about your plants until now!”

“You don’t love me for what I am!” snarled Crowley.

Aziraphale took a step back as if Crowley had slapped him. His chin was wobbling, the tears in his eyes threatening to overflow. The angel held his ground, Crowley could picture him subduing his feelings, his hurt, and pushing it all down. Crowley almost regretted his words, having let out this old fear of his.

“You know that’s not true.”

He knew it was mostly an unfounded fear. But then, the angel hadn’t known about the plants. He knew Aziraphale relished his mischief, his rudeness, his unbashfulness. Crowley couldn’t bear to receive the adamant look in his angel’s eyes, the softness of his voice. _Couldn’t._

“Really?” he provoked.

Aziraphale’s fingers clenched on the pot in his hands.

“You want to talk about changing people? What have you been doing since we got together? Pushing me to change the bookshop! Then to sing! To sleep!”

There was some truth to that statement. But it was distorted. Crowley hadn’t been trying to change Aziraphale, he had been helping him live life as he wanted to. The angel knew it. He was simply serving Crowley his own bad faith medicine, like Crowley had done earlier about the plants. And Crowley had no answer to that. He stormed out of the room, ignored Aziraphale crying his name, and slammed the door behind him as he yelled “I need some air!”

Crowley drove angrily through London, not turning on the music because he didn’t feel like hearing Queen sing lovesick songs. That fucking angel!

He was barely watching the road, trusting the Bentley to keep them, and others, safe. Crowley had known he shouldn’t let Aziraphale discover how he truly treated his plants. He kept driving without a destination and ended up in another city, not even knowing which.

He slapped the wheel. The Bentley, knowing it wasn’t the target, continued as if nothing had happened until it found an illegal spot and parked itself. Crowley let his head drop on the board. Fuck it all. He hadn’t wanted to let Aziraphale see the wretched sides of him. They were only plants, for Fuck’s sake.

But of course… of course the angel that had given his sword to people God herself had evicted would try to protect them. Of course the one that had welcomed the presence of a demon, talked to him and shielded him from the rain, would sympathise with them. Of course the angel that had looked at Crowley and decided he loved him would love the defective plants.

Crowley loved him for it.

He had sworn never to berate Aziraphale for his kindness.

The plants didn’t deserve it. It made Crowley mad with anger. But he would deal with it for the angel. Just as he thought that, he felt his wrist grow warm. The bond bracelet. Crowley lifted his head from his arms. The sky was dark. How long had he been out?

A new wave of warmth. With a sigh, Crowley pressed his hand to the bracelet, lingering a little longer than necessary.

“Let’s go home,” Crowley told his car.

In all their fights, Crowley was always the one crawling back to Aziraphale. This time was no exception. They would do as usual, act like nothing had happened and wait to see if it would come back to bite them in the ass.

He entered the silent flat and went to the living room, where his angel was walking in circles. Crowley sighed as he noticed Aziraphale had tried to tidy: folding his blanket and not leaving any of the books lying around.

Blue eyes met his, reddened by recently shed tears, dried tracks still visible on rosy cheeks. Crowley had never had to deal with the angel so soon after a fight. He had always given them both the time to compose themselves.

“Angel…”

Wanting to prove he wasn’t angry anymore, Crowley snapped his fingers to put on his pyjamas. He could do with some sleep. Aziraphale’s face distorted and crumpled, and under Crowley’s lost gaze he began to cry again.

“Angel, what?”

Aziraphale caught his hand and pressed it to his heart, still hiccupping and crying.

“Please… Crowley, please don’t go to sleep. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

Fuck. Did he think he was going to hibernate? It always amazed him to see how his long nap after asking for holy water had affected Aziraphale. If he was honest, a part of him was pleased, but the other was breaking to see how badly he had hurt the angel.

Gently, he gathered Aziraphale in his arms, kissing his curls and rubbing his face in them.

“I’m not leaving, I’m not going to sleep for more than a few hours, as usual. Angel, don’t apologize. You know I always come back to you, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded and Crowley led them to the bedroom. He watched as Aziraphale changed into his nightgown as he got into bed. Once the angel was ready, Crowley lifted the covers for him to settle next to him. For once, the angel didn’t grab for a book. He made Crowley curl into him, petted his hair and kept watch.

In the early morning, Crowley woke up to his angel still dutifully observing him.

“See, I’m awake,” he whispered.

“Thank you.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll stay with you,” requested Crowley.

Aziraphale seemed to consider, then nodded meekly and lay back on the cushions. Crowley shifted their position, wrapping around his angel, making him rest on his chest and taking over the petting.

When it became apparent that Aziraphale wouldn’t make it in time to the bookshop, Crowley texted Dalorian to let him know. Then he contacted one of Aziraphale’s favourite restaurants and ordered a nice brunch.

It arrived just as Aziraphale was starting to wake up. Crowley kissed his brow and let him find the strength to get up and about. He made sure the delicious smells from the brunch reached his angel as he arranged it all in the living room.

Crowley then set to untidy the place, the way he had last time Aziraphale had felt the need to… erase his own presence, to fit into what he thought the mould was. As he did so, he found the mint. The pot had been placed at the side of a bookshelf, where Crowley wouldn’t see it too often. The plant wouldn’t get enough light here.

He grabbed the pot, feeling the plant tremble in fear, and set it on a windowsill where it would be half shade, half-light, just what it needed.

“Aziraphale saved your roots this time, but don’t think I’m done with you. If you don’t pull yourself together and stop making him sad, nothing will stop me from ripping you to shreds. Got it?” he hissed warningly.

Aziraphale joined him soon after, looking dashing if very old-fashioned, as usual. He settled next to Crowley to eat, smiling and wriggling in anticipation. The angel softly laced their fingers together, leaned his shoulder on Crowley’s and rested his leg against Crowley’s. The angel moaned in contentment as he bit into a lemon meringue pie, then froze like a mouse under the snake’s gaze. Crowley, who had been rapturously watching him, followed his gaze… to the mint. Aziraphale grabbed his napkin, dabbed at his lips, and settled his hand firmly on the table.

“Dear, do you want me to… to dispose of it?”

The fact that Aziraphale would go this far to please him. Even if he had no doubt that the angel would try to convince Crowley to let him gift the plant to someone, rather than destroy it.

“No.”

“Thank you, dearest.”

The angel’s smile was blinding. Crowley decided that was worth it. He leaned his face on his hand, and watched Aziraphale eat, letting him feed Crowley pieces here and there.

Drawing for chapter 4 (the cufflink scene <3) by the amazing psyclopathe (https://www.deviantart.com/psyclopathe) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Angel with a Shotgun by The Cab 
> 
> Nothing makes me more happy than receiving reviews, so please, don't hesitate ^^ 
> 
> I lied, I received a drawing for this story and I think I might have died of happiness... The amazing Psyclopathe https://www.deviantart.com/psyclopathe is responsible ! Please go give some love to her art !


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely people who reviewed ^^   
> Thank you to those who took the time to leave kudos ! 
> 
> the lovely PollyPocalypse (https://archiveofourown.org/users/PollyPocalypse/pseuds/PollyPocalypse) is betaing the chapers :) Thank you for your help!

**Disclaimer** : gentle reminder that English isn’t my native language, in this chapter we have a bit of Mr Shadwell and I can’t for the life of me imitate his accent or way of speaking (which is a nightmare to read for foreign people). Very sorry for this incoherence. 

And I suppose I should mention I hate him and that might show in the way I write him.

**Second disclaimer** : I know nothing about care for plants, so if I got it all wrong, please do forgive me and just pretend.

“Don’t forget, Mr Fell, that I won’t be here during my exams,” Lilly reminded him for the hundredth time.

“I will be fine, dear girl,” assured Aziraphale.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, and make sure the library stays open,” promised Mr Dalorian.

“I’ve managed for years!” exclaimed Aziraphale.

Two pairs of eyes conveyed just what they thought of that statement, and Crowley snorted from the sofa, where he was pretending not to watch the scene. It was closing time in a few moments and they waited for Mr Shadwell and Madame Tracy to arrive.

As if on cue, the door opened with the cheerful jingle of the bell. Grumbling and looking for all the world like he was being hanged, Mr Shadwell was holding the door for Madame Tracy.

“Oh thank you, Mr Shadwell,” she cooed.

Aziraphale beamed at her, going over to shake her hand and Mr Shadwell’s hands. It was a bit of a cacophony as Lilly and Dalorian were quickly introduced and took their leave, then Aziraphale herded his guests to the back room where tea and cookies waited. Crowley followed suit at a distance, eyeing Mr Shadwell. He played the part of the long-suffering husband very well, considering his wife to be a ball-and-chain, and that rubbed Crowley the wrong way. Or maybe he still hadn’t digested being made a fool by such a character. He had never looked at that damn ledger, a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

They weren’t even settled in before a nice chat began between Madame Tracy and Aziraphale, the two of them catching up on gossip and each other’s lives. After a while, Crowley realized both Mr Shadwell and himself had only been grunting at the right parts. Not being able to stand acting like Mr Shadwell, Crowley made an effort to be more amiable.

Which resulted, because the universe hated Crowley, in Madame Tracy asking shamelessly about Aziraphale’s and Crowley’s sex life. Crowley promptly choked on his coffee while Aziraphale replied, nonplussed:

“Crowley once told me he had a hand in creating some stars and let me tell you, he takes great pleasure at making me visit them each time we have intercourse.“

Crowley kept choking, pretending that the redness of his face was from the lack of air. Madame Tracy hid a smile behind her teacup.

“You may be a pansy but at least be a man, lad!” groused Mr Shadwell.

Crowley considered ripping his intestines out and strangling him with them, but Aziraphale’s hand on his knee stopped any idea he had of murder.

“So did you bring the documents, Mr Shadwell?” politely asked Aziraphale.

“Yeah yeah, got them here for ye,” replied the man.

He stood up and got the bag he had left with his coat. He threw the bag at Aziraphale, almost spilling the content.

“Here ye go, sunshine.”

Aziraphale flinched, caught himself and offered a huge, cheerful but very forced and strained smile. Crowley set his mug on the table with a stern click. Under the quiet force, the porcelain broke in two neat pieces that clattered on the wood.

“Do. Not. Call. Him. That ever again,” warned Crowley.

“Whatcha say? Sunshine?” 

This time Aziraphale managed to control his knee-jerk reaction and put his hand again on Crowley’s knee to appease him.

“He couldn’t possibly know,” the angel said gently.

Crowley twisted toward him, lips curled in a snarl.

“Angel, you let him call you a pansy… he only opens his mouth to be rude to you!”

“He means no harm, right, honey?” Madame Tracy tried to placate.

“He’s a pansy, and now even sunshine’s a bad word? I’ll call him sunshine if I want,” mumbled Mr Shadwell, crossing his arms on his chest.

“It’s ok, Crowley…” assured Aziraphale, giving Crowley that understanding smile of his. 

Crowley took the hand on his knee between his own and looked Aziraphale in the eyes.

“No. It’s not, angel. You wouldn’t let anyone say those words to someone else.”

The angel opened his mouth to retort, but closed it as the reality of that statement reached him. Mr Shadwell might not have known the particular meaning of “Sunshine” for Aziraphale but Shadwell being Shadwell, it was easy to tell he meant it as an insult. That it was what Gabriel called him to demean him, what he had called his angel as he sent him, smiling, to his death as Crowley wore his skin. But, Mr Shadwell knew perfectly well it was derogatory, just like pansy (1), adding those together, it was too much.

“I will let it pass this time,” decided Aziraphale, lifting a hand to stop Crowley before turning to Mr Shadwell, “but please do not use those words again in my presence.”

“What for? You’re a snowflake now? I say you gotta call a cat a cat,” replied Mr Shadwell.

“Honey, drop it, not everyone likes to be insulted like I do,” joked Madame Tracy.

Aziraphale had pursed his lips and straightened in his chair, glaring and ready for a verbal joust.

“Ye get off your high horse, pansy! I exorcised you once, I can do it again,” threatened Mr Shadwell, pointing his fingers at Aziraphale.

Time seemed to slow down. (It hadn’t, yet. It was waiting for a sign from Crowley to do so.) 

“What?” asked Crowley, his voice able to turn water into ice cubes.

“Ye heard me, ye tall asparagus. Not scared of your lot, I’m a Witchfinder sergeant.”

Madame Tracy swatted at Mr Shadwell, giving him a scolding about being rude to their friends. Crowley turned to Aziraphale, who was very much avoiding his gaze.

“You said you stepped on the Heaven circle by mistake.”

“Well yes. But it so happens that I was trying to prevent Mr Shadwell here from stepping into it and dying. He was accusing me of seducing ladies and such ludicrous ideas.”

“He discorporated you. The bookshop burned because of him,” realized Crowley, “I thought you were dead because of him.”

“Oh goodness! I didn’t know that about this unfortunate incident,” exclaimed Madame Tracy, looking very sorry.

“Got what he deserved,” grumbled Mr Shadwell.

Before anyone could react, the old man found himself lifted off his chair and slammed against a wall. Crowley snarled in his face, his glasses askew and his yellow eyes visible. Mr Shadwell looked scared, surely not having thought the slender Crowley capable of such a show of strength. Crowley relished the feeling.

“Enough,” ordered Aziraphale in a booming voice.

The angel had stood up and Crowley was suddenly reminded by his posture and aura that not only was Aziraphale a former soldier, but a commanding officer of a platoon of angels (2).

“Mr Shadwell, I will not tolerate such language and attitude in my home. Please leave at once.”

Madame Tracy took matters in her hands immediately and made her boyfriend obey with minimum drama. Crowley went to his angel, bashful but not regretting anything. He received a kiss on his cheek, then on his lips.

“Thank you for defending my honour, Crowley,” said Aziraphale coyly, a twinkle in his eyes.

That angel really got a kick out of Crowley acting like his white knight. Crowley trailed a hand in his hair, still shaken by what he had learned. He had got better with the whole Aziraphale-burnt-in-the-bookshop thing but it was still with him, as proved by the incident with the candles, and now with that asshole. He had a feeling it would never leave him. Get better, sure, but never disappear. After all one couldn’t go back to a previous state, one could only march forward.

“I am so sorry, he can be such a handful. I do hope what he brought you was worth the hassle. I won’t bring him next time,” apologized Madame Tracy.

“It’s not your fault, dear girl. Please excuse my rudeness and the butchered evening. I will gladly have you back if you are still amenable.”

“Of course, Aziraphale, it’s always a pleasure.”

She reached for him and gave him a quick hug. Then she turned to Crowley and asked him to escort her to the door. Crowley obliged.

“I owe you an apology. I didn’t know about the fire and I thought it was old news that Mr Shadwell had discorporated Aziraphale.”

“No need. I’ll forever be grateful to you for hosting Aziraphale.”

Madame Tracy turned to Crowley, a gleam in her eyes that the demon didn’t particularly enjoy. The last time he’d seen it, he had choked on his coffee. And sure enough:

“Yes, that gave me a lot of insight into that angel of yours. I daresay he enjoys hosting, if you catch my drift.”

Oh, Crowley caught her drift just fine. Yes, he had noticed. If Madame Tracy’s reaction was any indication, he hadn’t managed to restrain a besotted grin from appearing on his face.

“I do hope he’s being honest with you, he is so repressed.”

“Honest?”

“Yes, about what he wants.”

What a strange thing to worry about. Aziraphale was demanding. Good thing Crowley was a giver. And even sexually, Aziraphale let him know what he liked, what he wanted. Crowley shivered as he remembered manicured hands grabbing his ass to push him deeper, legs closing around him to make him move faster, hands pulling hair to get a kiss…

“Good then,” chuckled Madame Tracy.

She rummaged in her purse for a bit and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, lined with fluffy pink feathers, giving them to Crowley.

“He will enjoy being restrained,” she advised with a wink.

“Ngk.”

Madame Tracy had donned her coat before Crowley could get his bearings back. She patted his arm gently and smiled in a contrite way, as they could see Mr Shadwell pacing at the door.

“I don’t understand how you can stand him,” Crowley said. 

“Someone needs to take care of him.”

“Put him in a hospice then,” retorted Crowley.

Madame Tracy laughed and bid him farewell.

## ***

“Turn the light off!” hurriedly whispered Aziraphale.

Crowley did as told, puffing in exertion and resting on his shovel. With the shine of the moon he could see Minion on Aziraphale’s shoulder. They kept quiet and still as footsteps approached them.

“I could swear I saw something,” said an unknown voice.

“An animal, or the lights of a passing car? What could possibly be in the fields at this hour?”

The answer to that question was: a troupe of look-out rats, an angel and a demon. Currently holding their breath as the men got closer. Aziraphale crept to Crowley, hips deep in a hole, and they both flattened on the ground.

A squeak. Then a very manly scream.

“Damn it! A fucking rat! There’s nothing here, let’s go.”

Retreating footsteps. A rat coming to nuzzle back into a perfumed neck. A few beats of waiting to be certain.

“Good job, Minion,” congratulated Aziraphale.

He stood up again, slapping his coveralls to get rid of most of the dirt, then took his light hoe, turned back on the torch on the floor and got back to work. Crowley cracked a few joints, and a few more that shouldn’t have existed, and started shovelling again. He had expected the angel to gripe and complain but had been proven wrong. On the contrary, he was full of energy and as giddy as when they went to the theatre. It was night two of the plan and they still hadn’t reached the secret passageway. At least the rats had confirmed they were right on top of it and almost there.

A good hour later, Aziraphale stopped, resting against the pile of earth they had dug out, neatly put into a bag. He was panting heavily and sweating, but smiling. A few rats took that opportunity to scurry on him, getting gentle pets as they wedged their way under the angel’s fingers.

“Come on angel, dig,” encouraged Crowley.

They had to finish tonight or everything would be jeopardized. Tomorrow was the night the heist was to take place. They could do a bit of digging, but nothing much. So the bulk of the work had to be done tonight.

With no protest, Aziraphale jumped back into the hole and started shovelling with Crowley, back to back.

“You do realise that we could just miracle it?” mentioned the angel with the kind of tone that usually resulted in the both of them arguing all night.

“Uh huh,” replied Crowley, not rising to the bait.

“But I know you don’t want to,” continued the angel, undeterred.

Crowley groaned under the effort, then closed his bag full of earth and tossed it out of the way, opening a new one to keep going.

“Because it would be less fun,” added Aziraphale.

Touché. Crowley had been found out. And so what? It wasn’t a secret. Crowley liked schemes that required thinking, plotting and investment. He enjoyed playing by the humans’ rules.

“You know what it reminds me of?” the angel innocently continued.

Crowley didn’t like that tone. Even if he hadn’t batted an eyelash at his angel’s poking, he felt he hadn’t escaped the trap laid out by Aziraphale. The latter had stopped digging - Crowley looked at him in dread - and finally said:

“No?”

“Magic.”

What the heck? Crowley opened his mouth to voice his surprise but Aziraphale was grinning from ear to ear and radiating self-satisfaction.

“I could use miracles, but it would be less fun!” he ended, triumphant. 

Crowley had to begrudgingly admit he had a point. Was he going to say it? Nope. The insufferably smug look his angel was giving him told Crowley he knew he had won this round.

“Shut up and dig.”

“Yes, dearest,” chuckled the angel.

At last, their shovels clanked against stone. They had reached the passage. But night was getting lighter and they had to leave before being caught in the act. Crowley tied all the bags of dirt to the trolleys, wrapped their supplies in plastic so they could be carried easier and stuffed torches and the rest into the backpacks. During this, Aziraphale installed a piece of wood over the top of their hole, put some earth on it, and planted some maize as well as he could so that people passing by wouldn’t spot their cleared patch too easily.

They surreptitiously went back to the Bentley, hiding the bags of earth and their supplies in the boot. Then got in and drove back to London, where Aziraphale would open the library and Crowley would freaking sleep. Then they would meet for a last once-over of their plan and the heist would take place.

“You know what I’ll do, once this is over with?” asked Crowley.

“No?”

Aziraphale was gripping the handle for dear life as Crowley sped.

“I’ll take a long nice bath.”

“If you wish. I rather fancy a flute of champagne and a tray of desserts.”

“Of course you do.”

Crowley parked at the library’s back door and kissed Aziraphale goodbye, but stayed until he saw him enter. Then he went back to his flat and crawled into bed to sleep the day away. But his mind had other plans for him.

Madame Tracy’s words kept lurking in his thoughts. Was Aziraphale honest with him about what he desired? Now that Crowley thought about it, he had always been the one to initiate their love making. Not once had Aziraphale taken the first step. But he seemed to tremendously enjoy their joining. And he never said no.

Was Crowley putting pressure on him? Did Aziraphale feel uncomfortable saying no to him? Was he not inclined to sex and only indulged Crowley? He liked it, that was a given, but… maybe Crowley asked too much? But Aziraphale loved being penetrated, having Crowley inside him, being taken slowly or roughly…

Crowley hissed in annoyance and rolled on his side, pondering. What if he chose a moment where he knew Aziraphale wasn’t up for it? Like when he was elbow deep in repairing a book. If Aziraphale didn’t refuse him then, he would confront him. Maybe he should also watch the angel closely, see if he would initiate anything on his own. Restrain his desires and wait for Aziraphale to make his known.

## ***

The next night, they returned and continued with their plan. Having finally reached the secret passageway, they managed to get inside and were making their way to the mansion, lighting the way with their miner’s hats and following Minion so as to not get lost.

“I loved meeting you in these, in the old times, “ dreamily sighed Aziraphale.

“Yeah and they were handy, saved my ass a few times. Then during the wars people used them as storage or hiding places.”

“It’s lucky this one wasn’t destroyed or filled.”

Crowley hummed his agreement. Soon, they reached the trap door leading into the chapel. They turned off their miner’s hats and Aziraphale got to work on getting the thing open. The rats had made sure it was still functional. Once he managed to lift it a bit, they closed it again and waited for a squeak to tell them the coast was clear. Aziraphale opened it fully and hoisted himself out of the tunnel. He turned to Crowley, extending a hand. Crowley grabbed it and as he tried to climb out, laid a finger on a tile and hissed in pain, jerking away and dropping Aziraphale’s hand. 

“Consecrated ground, alright,” he mumbled as he sucked his finger.

“Let me help, dearest.”

As if Crowley weighed nothing, Aziraphale reached for him, grabbing him under the armpits and lifted him out in one smooth movement. Crowley made an undignified sound and instinctively wrapped himself around the angel.

“That’s not going to be very practical, dear,” chuckled Aziraphale.

“Sssshut up.”

After a bit of fumbling, Crowley ended up getting a piggyback from the angel. They reached the door and Aziraphale put his ear to it. They were going in blindly from hereon because the rats had been found out and death-traps and poison scattered around the place. Aziraphale had been adamant that they didn’t put them in danger. Crowley had agreed, pretending it was all for the angel’s sake.

Aziraphale opened the door a smidge, glanced outside and decided it was safe. He lowered Crowley to the ground with a smile. Then he went back in to get their backpacks and the trolleys. He nearly dropped one and Crowley watched him with dread as he battled with it like a bar of soap. In the end he managed to catch it in time.

Once equipped they nodded to each other, ready to go. Crowley checked his watch, they were in the green. There were two rooms; they had to clean out their contents. They had memorized the usual hours and schedule of the guards. They had planned to meet back at the second room, the biggest one, and then go back together so as to share the load. Aziraphale was to be in the little one.

“And remember, angel, no browsing the stuff,” warned Crowley.

“Who do you take me for, dear?”

Crowley let his glasses slide on his nose to give a judgmental I-know-you look and Aziraphale huffed. They nearly started bickering before remembering they were on a tight schedule and were supposed to be discreet.

“Mind how you go,” whispered Aziraphale as they parted.

Crowley managed to slither into the corridors without too much trouble. He might have needed to climb on the ceiling for a bit, but well, it wasn’t technically cheating, and seriously, the rats hadn’t warned him the freaking loo was on his way!

Safely in the room, Crowley touched his bond bracelet to let Aziraphale know. He started working on wrapping everything up in paper, then binding them with rope and attaching the whole lot on his trolley. Good thing he loved Tetris, and Aziraphale had a knack for fitting lots of knick-knacks and books in improbable places.

Just as Crowley was starting to worry about Aziraphale not giving a sign, he felt his wrist grow warm. He tapped twice on it, their code for “Everything alright?”. He received a response in morse code and rolled his eyes.

“ _Got a bit lost_ ,” he replied.

“ _I made you a plan!_ ”

“ _Well, it wasn’t very clear._ ”

“ _It was perfectly clear._ ”

“ _I beg to differ, you missed a few doors and corridors._ ”

“ _I did not,_ ” argued Crowley, getting riled up. 

“ _Really? So they just popped into being?_ ”

“ _You took a wrong turn for sure._ ”

“ _Because your plan wasn’t clear,_ ” coded Aziraphale.

“ _It wasn’t my plan’s fault._ ”

“ _Very well, the rats didn’t give you enough information._ ”

“ _Get to work, angel._ ”

Damn, that little squabbling had put them into the yellow for their mission. Crowley picked up the pace, and if he stopped to get a closer look at a few paintings... well, Aziraphale didn’t have to know. When he was done, he touched his bracelet, checked for impromptu guards and sneaked out.

_Screeeek screeeek_.

Fucking bloody trolley was creaking! Patting the pockets of his jacket, he produced a bit of oil and slicked the damn thing. He hurried to Aziraphale’s side, managing to avoid all the guards. But was nearly done by the angel as he entered the room. He was narrowly missed by Aziraphale’s trolley, brandished as a weapon.

“It’s me!” he yelped.

“You were supposed to warn me!”

“Sorry, was in a hurry. Guard close.”

As he finished his sentence they heard footsteps, and both clapped their hand on the other’s mouth. A few beats later, they glanced at each other and suppressed a flurry of giggles. They were having so much fun.

“Nice work,” complimented Crowley as he took in the mostly packed room.

He pretended not to notice Aziraphale discreetly closing a book. Between the two of them, the job was soon done. They slowly but surely started to make their way back to the chapel, and got lost. Aziraphale gave him an I-told-you-so look. Crowley silently made sarcastic faces at him and begrudgingly let him lead the way, then nearly lost his marbles as Aziraphale hummed the James Bond theme. 

They were smiling like two idiots when they turned a corner and a guard opened the door - the fucking loo again! - and ended up face-to-face with them. With Aziraphale. Crowley’s heart skipped a beat. The man was trained, and already had his gun out.

“Oh look! A penny!” exclaimed Aziraphale.

He produced a penny from his pocket and went to do his silly behind-your-ear magic trick. Crowley nearly screamed bloody murder in utter horror. Who he wanted to murder was up for debate, the man threatening the angel or said angel doing fucking fake magic at a man wanting to kill him!

The guard opened his mouth, taken aback, and Aziraphale punched him in the face with a rather impressive right hook. Crowley gaped. The man went down like a bag of potatoes. Fuck Crowley loved that angel.

“Gentlemen’s club. Didn’t only learn dancing,” explained Aziraphale.

“Magic, angel?” Crowley couldn’t help but ask.

“Surprise and disorientation are the best defences.” 

Crowley suddenly realized that trying not to make love to Aziraphale was going to be painfully hard. He had thought he would manage just fine - after all, he had waited for the angel for thousands of years. But he hadn’t bitten the forbidden apple then… now that he had got a taste, it was far more difficult to resist. Especially knowing that all he had to do was press him into a wall to have him offer himself.

“Watson to Golden eyes?” whispered Aziraphale.

Aziraphale had been the one to insist on code names. Crowley couldn’t be blamed for indulging him. He had been flattered to be the Sherlock to Aziraphale’s Watson. Crowley snapped out of it and helped the angel drag the guard back into the loo. They placed him in a way that would make him think he had tripped and fallen on his face, breaking his nose. They put some water on the ground for good measure.

“You will wake up thinking you tripped and smashed your nose on the tiles,” whispered Aziraphale, erasing their presence from his mind.

“You could heal him,” mentioned Crowley.

“I’m not healing a Nazi,” primly replied Aziraphale.

“Could be only a hired hand, angel.”

“And you will reconsider your life choices and do better,” added Aziraphale to the guard.

They went back to sneaking into the corridors and reached the chapel. Aziraphale stuffed everything inside and turned to Crowley, lowering himself and offering his back to carry him. Crowley gingerly climbed on and couldn’t resist nosing his angel’s throat, breathing in his perfume. Then he gave a perfunctory protest at being manhandled back into the trapdoor.

Once safely back outside, Minion once again on Aziraphale’s shoulder, they poured all the earth back into the hole and tried to make it seem as if nothing but maybe some animals had done anything to the ground. Crowley was the one to replant the corn this time.

“Alright, you’re settled. Might be a little hard to find your bearings again, but I know you can do it. Grow well and don’t let them see you’ve been moved. Or I will come back and rip you to shreds. Slowly,” hissed Crowley encouragingly.

He felt Aziraphale’s eyes on him and elected to ignore the angel. They managed to fit everything into the Bentley’s back and boot (the car might have adjusted slightly to help). The journey back to Crowley’s flat, the dragging of all the stuff up the back stairs so as to not arouse suspicions, putting everything into a miracled storage room, all of this was mostly done in silence.

Crowley glanced at a puffing Aziraphale, still wearing his coveralls, covered in dirt and grime and absolutely lovely. Aziraphale turned to him, and a slow, delighted grin appeared on his features.

“I daresay we make quite the team,” he gushed.

They smiled at each other, triumph high in their blood.

“I will be taking care of sending all of those, slowly but surely, to their rightful owners or the closest I can find.”

“Perfect, angel. You made all this possible,” Crowley said gratefully.

He had snapped his clothes off, enjoying the way Aziraphale blushed and pretended not to stare, but absolutely did. He sauntered to the bathroom, making a point to rock his hips from side to side even more than usual. The angel followed him but didn’t rise to the bait. Worse, as Crowley drew his bath, putting scented oil in it, Aziraphale undressed too, cleaned himself with a quick miracle and put on his nightgown.

Crowley slithered into the bathtub and let himself soak in it with a happy sigh, followed by a deep satisfied groan as Aziraphale’s hand sneaked its way into his dirty hair, massaging his scalp and promising a wonderful moment of the angel taking care of him.

“Give me the shampoo, dearest.”

Being pampered by Aziraphale was the perfect way to end that night of successful mischief. He felt himself turn to goo under the angel’s ministrations, the way he trailed his fingers into his hair, lathering it with shampoo, how he massaged and scratched just the right amount. How thick fingers went down to his neck to work out knots Crowley hadn’t even noticed.

“See, it wasn’t that bad to help out, was it?” taunted Crowley.

“No it wasn’t,” admitted Aziraphale, “I must say I rather enjoyed it. Teaming up with you. I daresay I wouldn’t be disinclined to do it again if you are amenable.”

Crowley turned in surprise, splashing water everywhere and ending up with a huge trail of shampoo on his face.

“Say again?” he asked, not daring to hope.

“You heard me, you wily serpent.”

Aziraphale was pouting and blushing. Crowley grabbed his wrists and rose a bit so that he could face the angel properly, so close their breath mingled. He unblinkingly stared at him, looking for any sign of teasing in those blue eyes but found only quiet adoration, admiration and love. 

“You would help with my schemes?”

“As long as they don’t go against my beliefs,” agreed Aziraphale.

Crowley kissed him. Then scattered kisses everywhere on his face, making the angel laugh. Crowley sank back into the bath, throwing his head back into Aziraphale’s waiting hands so he could go back to taking care of him.

“I always wanted to be part of a team, to be able to rely on trusted allies,” admitted Aziraphale.

“That’s why you made me save you multiple times?” teased Crowley.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and Crowley opened one eye just to see him flush and scrunch up his nose in annoyance.

“I suppose that and… well… never mind”, mumbled the angel.

There was no need to say it, Crowley knew. Just as he knew that after the holy water incident, the angel had been trying to recreate the kick he had from their arrangement. That was why he had allied himself with who he believed to be the British secret intelligence service during World War II.

“I will always have your back,” assured Crowley, grabbing one angelic wrist and kissing it despite the soap.

“I know, dearest. Our side.”

“Our side.”

## ***

Crowley wanted to know if Aziraphale was willing to say “no” to him. Well, his angel was telling him no all the time (then “yes” once Crowley found what buttons to push) but ever since Madame Tracy’s talk, Crowley needed to know if the angel, who had never refused Crowley’s advances, was willing to do so.

He hoped. Until now he had never solicited Aziraphale at an inopportune moment. Well, if he didn’t count the time he had tried to get the angel to fuck at the Ritz. Oh, that had been grandiose. And yes, Aziraphale hadn’t been up for sort-of public sex, but Crowley had ended up taking him in the Bentley right outside the Ritz seconds after paying the bill (because the angel had believed that the Bentley would prevent anyone from hearing them, seeing them, from knowing about it. So the Bentley had, of course. It was a little bit in love with the angel, as was its master). So, not a refusal, rather a delay.

Never mind. Today Aziraphale was doing his taxes, Dalorian’s ones, and the ones from almost two streets around them. To think he had been investigated by the tax authorities multiple times (1). The poor dudes now left him alone, as well as all the people Aziraphale was, freely, doing their accounts for.

This was not the right time to get Aziraphale into the mood. The angel was very focused and tapped - with only two fingers, to Crowley’s grand despair - on his antique computer, another great frustration for Crowley. He looked positively adorable with his little stupid glasses on the tip of his nose, his brow furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he worked.

Crowley draped himself on the backrest of Aziraphale’s chair and kissed his neck, making the angel shiver and tut at him. From behind his back, Crowley produced a box full of pastries.

“Want some?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m working, dearest,” pouted the angel.

Then he glanced at Crowley, a twinkle in his eyes, and looked at the pastries, then back at Crowley before licking his lips and going back to viewing his screen and tapping.

“Shame I don’t have any more hands,” he laughed.

Getting the not-so-subtle hint, Crowley grabbed a delicacy and presented it to Aziraphale’s lips. The angel hummed and bit into it, letting Crowley feed him as he continued to work diligently. Crowley was so infatuated with Aziraphale it hurt.

Once done with another pastry, Crowley snapped the box to the kitchen and went back to being draped behind Aziraphale. Gently, he trailed his fingers up and down his arm.

“Are you bored, my dear?”

Crowley nipped Aziraphale’s ear, then his throat, his hands sliding to his waist, then to his hips and finally to his thighs. Gentle hands grabbed Crowley’s, removing them then, as an afterthought, lifting them to perfect lips. Aziraphale kissed each of his knuckles, sighing in pleasure as Crowley kept devouring his neck.

“Dearest, not right now, I’m working,” he rebuked.

Crowley tilted the angel’s chin up and kissed him, deep and slow.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, dearest.”

Aziraphale gave him a kiss on the cheek, then on the hand that remained in his hold. Crowley nodded and fished his phone from his pocket, going off to stretch on the couch and dither away on useless games.

The angel went back to his taxes, losing himself in them once again. Crowley smiled adoringly at him. Good. He had refused him with ease. That soothed Crowley more than he had thought possible.

But Crowley, being himself, needed another confirmation. Just to be sure. He wanted his angel to be secure in his right to refuse Crowley’s advances. The opportunity presented itself easily enough a few days later. Aziraphale had tracked down an old first edition, had fought tooth and nail to get his hands on it, managed to, and was now pampering the book. It was in a very sorry state, but that had never stopped Aziraphale before.

It had been two days since the acquisition. The angel hadn’t left his chair for the whole duration, day and night. Crowley thanked… well, no one really (suck it up, upstairs and downstairs) for the bond bracelet. Aziraphale had just finished a tricky part and was busying himself with something simpler. This was the perfect opportunity, because the purpose wasn’t to anger the angel by bothering him during a sensitive repair.

Sure of his timing, Crowley sauntered to his angel’s work table and planted himself on it, leaning seductively backwards on his stretched arms. He had removed his shoes and placed one foot on Aziraphale’s lap, close to a very intimate region. Aziraphale lifted his face from the book, sighed and kissed Crowley’s knee before gently-but-firmly shooing him away.

“You are being very distracting, dear,” he chided.

Crowley smirked and slid smoothly on Aziraphale’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and nosing at his face, demanding a kiss. He received it, but only a peck, Aziraphale not letting him deepen it.

“Dearest... You know I dislike being interrupted when I repair a book,” he reminded softly.

Crowley smiled at him, kissed him on the nose and removed himself. Before he could go, Aziraphale grabbed his hand and brought it to his lips.

“Sorry to refuse you again,” he apologized.

“No need, angel.”

Assured that nothing was amiss between them, Aziraphale returned to his book. Crowley had failed to consider that he hadn’t touched the angel since his decision during the heist. And now Aziraphale had had to push him away twice. The plan to let the angel make the first move was going to be slightly delayed, he didn’t want Aziraphale to think Crowley was moody or punishing him for saying “no”.

That night Aziraphale changed into his nightgown in their bedroom, as he did sometimes rather than in the bathroom, maybe because he was caught up in their conversation, bickering about ducks. When Aziraphale turned to Crowley to make his point very clear all his arguments failed him. Crowley was naked on their bed, lounging seductively, already hard.

“See something you like?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale had flushed prettily and was admiring Crowley, not moving. That is until Crowley extended his hand, then Aziraphale went to him, still unable to tear his gaze away, and put his hand in Crowley’s.

“Climb on the bed, angel.”

He did so awkwardly, wincing as he knew that he wasn’t being very sexy in doing so, but to Crowley, he was perfect, his clumsy angel. Crowley patted his lap until Aziraphale was straddling him. Then he slid his hands up those strong legs, pushing up the nightgown until it pooled at the quivering thighs.

There was something highly erotic about a half-dressed state. Crowley touched each inch of skin he could reach, sliding, grabbing, teasing. Gently, he coaxed the angel closer, until their desires touched and Aziraphale arched in pleasure.

His angel bent to kiss him, and Crowley followed and encouraged his movement by grabbing his ass. He let Aziraphale lather him in love and tenderness. He was going to enjoy this night to its fullest, because he didn’t know when he would get the occasion to make love to Aziraphale again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) More on this here: https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/189765961711/hi-mr-gaiman-i-love-you-very-much-i-was
> 
> (2) Confirmed by Neil Gaiman 
> 
> As usual don't hesitate to leave a review with your feelings on the chapter ^^ See you next week!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who took the time to review and/or leave kudos

Crowley was tending to his plants. Tamely. Because the angel was in the kitchen, cooking. He hissed and threatened in whispers as he made sure every plant had all it needed to thrive. When he got to the ones he had bought for cooking purposes, he picked up what was ripe.

When he was done, he went to the forget-me-not and gently petted its leaves. It had lost its flowers and Crowley helped remove the remains, putting them in his compost. 

“You’re lovely even without flowers. I’m sure you’ll give me even more beautiful ones for next year.”

Crowley chuckled as he noticed the protector plant had its leaves brushing those of the myosotis. Shielding and cuddling, heh? It wasn’t growing anymore, at least not much, but it still looked dashing so he had a pass.

“Keep it up and I might think of putting the both of you in the same pot. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

There was some rustling, not of the fearful quality, and Crowley was surprised to see that pleased him too.

“Dearest?” 

Crowley turned to his angel. They usually avoided being in the plant room at the same time. In fact, the subject of plants was carefully avoided too.

“Yes, angel?” cautiously asked Crowley.

He removed his hand from the entwined leaves. Aziraphale’s eyes followed his movement. The angel took a tentative step into the room and got bolder as Crowley didn’t react. Crowley was pretending to be aloof and cool, yet was tense and ready to uncoil and strike if necessary. 

“May I ask why this one looks average, instead of magnificent like the others?” wondered the angel, referring to the myosotis.

“It isss perfect asss it isss,” replied Crowley.

Damn speech impediment. So what? He might be a bit protective of Aziraphale’s gift. And that was none of Aziraphale’s business.

“I see.”

Aziraphale had that secretive smile of someone who knew something that you didn’t. The angel reached for the protector plant and brushed its leaves, the plant preening under the gentleness.

“And this one?”

“What about it?”

“It’s up to your standards, but you’re… different with it?” tentatively asked Aziraphale.

So the angel had been watching. At least for a bit.

“It took up a duty that lets it off the hook.”

“Oh?”

Crowley pretended he didn’t understand the implied desire to know more. Aziraphale smiled sweetly, touched Crowley’s arm, fluttered his eyelashes, started to pout. Crowley caved. 

“It’s protecting the myosotis,” grumbled Crowley, “burnt its leaves to save it from the same fate.”

Aziraphale positively glowed in joy at being indulged, then turned all soft at Crowley’s words.

“So you expect it to keep up appearances and no more, since it’s taking care of the other one.”

Crowley nodded. Aziraphale gave him another secretive smile. The angel laced their fingers together and they made their way to the living room. The low table had been dressed: a nice tablecloth, tartan napkins rolled in a silver snake napkin ring and so on. A dish of pasta lay on the table with homemade tomato sauce, next to it some grated pecorino, and a complicated salad on the side with homemade vinaigrette.

“I used all the little timers you got me, so this time nothing’s burnt,” informed the angel.

This was his second attempt at cooking something else besides breakfast. They didn’t eat meals every day, they could go up to four days before Aziraphale suddenly had a craving. Until now they had mostly gone out or gotten takeaway. But Crowley had noticed how Aziraphale had started to try more things for breakfast. So he had invested in new plants to help with the endeavour and dropped hints that it would be nice if Aziraphale cooked for them. Hence why Aziraphale had started with main courses rather than desserts. For Crowley.

The first attempt had been burnt because the angel had wanted to try something a bit daring right off the bat and decided to pass the time with reading. Crowley had gotten him several angelic-themed timers to console him.

“I tried a bit of a presentation,” mentioned Aziraphale.

“Yeah, I can see you _tried_ ,” replied Crowley.

His angel huffed and Crowley kissed his cheek, chuckling. He sat at the table and smelled the dishes, slightly poking his tongue out as a force of habit. Then he served Aziraphale and himself. He could feel the angel’s eyes watching him closely as Aziraphale tried, and failed spectacularly, to contain his excitement; he was vibrating and biting his lip.

Crowley closed his eyes, as much to better taste his first spoonful as to get the angel out of his head. He hadn’t taken him in a few days, only allowing himself kisses and tender touches. Nothing sexual. So to have Aziraphale looking so positively delicious, wearing only pants and his shirt, one button off and sleeves rolled up… it was the torment of Tantalus. One of Crowley’s ideas, that one, taken from personal experience. And the angel had made no moves to initiate anything.

“It’s good, angel,” he complimented.

A manicured hand came to rest on his and a blissful smile was sent his way. Crowley would learn to keep himself in check again for this. He paid the meal due honour, his angel chattering happily, asking for his opinion on what to improve, of what to try next, and so on. 

“It looks fine now, don’t you think?” asked Aziraphale.

Crowley blinked, scratched under his chin and reluctantly turned his attention away from his angel to follow his gaze to the mint at the windowsill. Crowley patted his chest pocket, and sure enough his glasses were there. He slipped them on and ignored the sharp inhale coming from his right.

“It’s decent,” he deadpanned.

“Y… yes. I… maybe… maybe it could… well… go back… to the plant room, I mean,” suggested Aziraphale.

The angel knew he was treading on eggshells. Crowley glanced at him, miracled the dishes away then stood up to leave.

“I’m going to bed,” he informed.

“Dearest… I…”

Aziraphale looked distressed.

“I’ve just eaten a lot, I need to lie down,” reminded Crowley.

He walked to the door without looking back. Just as he was about to leave the room, still not turning to the angel, he added:

“It can never come back. I don’t think it even wants to.”

If a plant could nod, it would have done so most fervently. Crowley coiled into the bed. A few hours later, he heard the soft padding of Aziraphale coming to join him with a book. Once the angel was settled (not touching him, giving him space) Crowley, pretending to sleep, rolled over to him and snuggled into his soft body.

## ***

“It is so nice of you to read to the children,” mentioned Newt.

Then he shrivelled up on himself as eyes shielded by shades turned to him. It was so easy, Crowley didn’t even have to make a scary face. He just had to look.

“It really is, you’re very good with them,” agreed Anathema.

“I’m not,” mumbled Crowley.

“Yes you are,” came Aziraphale’s voice, from the kitchen where he was preparing tea and getting cookies and definitively couldn’t have heard Crowley’s mumbled words.

Anathema lifted her cup to her lips. Newt, still looking at his shoes, looked harder. Crowley shrugged, rolled his eyes and threw a leg above a stack of books, trying for the sexy-yet-nonchalant demon look.

“Don’t you roll your eyes, dearest. You are. I’ll be done in a jiffy!”

All persons present, Crowley included, pretended he wasn’t blushing. Aziraphale waltzed into the room with a tray and served everyone. He then made Crowley remove his feet from his books (because “Crowley, dear, really?”) and scoot over a bit so Aziraphale could sit next to him on the sofa.

“I really like what you did with the library, looks good,” congratulated Anathema.

Aziraphale beamed at her and launched into an explanation of how the library had come to life. With a side of gushing about how Crowley had sparked the idea and helped. Crowley piped up to recount the tales of the weapons hidden in the walls. 

“And Mister Dalorian and Lilly are managing the reception, so my usual schedule isn't too disturbed,” ended Aziraphale.

The angel took a sip of his cocoa, scrunching up his nose as it had grown cold. With a snap from a demon who definitely wasn’t kind at all, it was the right temperature again. Aziraphale leaned on Crowley to give him a peck on the cheek.

“Thank you, dearest.”

“This is really fascinating,” remarked Anathema.

“What is, dear girl?”

“You two using miracles! I’m so glad Agnes could help you. What a sordid affair. Are your powers affected in any way, now that you’re free from Heaven and Hell?”

Aziraphale had explained the little ordeal of their attempted executions to her, as a thank you to her ancestor. He had discussed it with Crowley and they had agreed they wouldn’t give her all the details, but enough to satisfy her curiosity. They didn’t want to risk anyone from above or downstairs getting a clue.

“Affected? Oh… no, dear girl, they can’t cut us off from the… let’s call it the well of resources. At least not Crowley, I could… I could Fall… but then I would get access to Hell’s well, I suppose.”

Crowley laced his fingers with Aziraphale’s as he stumbled on the word Fall. Then he glared at Newt, who was smiling as if he found them cute, until the young man cowered. Crowley had no shame about showing his feelings for Aziraphale. He wouldn’t be like those husbands always griping about their wives, they just didn’t deserve them. But Crowley had no tolerance for other people finding that cute.

“Not gonna happen, angel,” assured Crowley.

He felt the fingers in his hand tighten a little and brought said hand briefly to his lips.

“Do they like, get notification for your miracles?”

“Oh no, just a number at the end of the month. Fortunately. Otherwise the arrangement with Crowley wouldn’t have worked too well. But if they deemed you to have used too many, you had reports to make. Nightmarish, those, and the rude notes! And let me tell you, Heaven’s policy about the numbers kept changing!” complained Aziraphale.

“Don’t get worked up, angel,” teased Crowley.

“You never had to deal with that, Hell let you do as many as you like,” pouted Aziraphale.

As he glanced to Anathema and Newt, they both nodded wholeheartedly in encouragement.

“Yeah, too lazy to bother. But notifications… what a great idea. I bet Hastur would have looooved those - he was my handler.”

“Oh, you would’ve made him go crazy,” confirmed Aziraphale, looking adoringly at Crowley.

“Yeah. Like Warlock with the lights. Do you remember that phase he had?”

Oh, if Aziraphale’s face was anything to go by, he did. And not fondly. Crowley smirked.

“Oh, the light-on, light-off phase.”

“Imagine that with miracles! It would be terrific!” chortled Crowley, looking very pleased with his idea.

Aziraphale turned to him, clasping his hands together in excitement.

“Oh, you’re evil! Imagine me doing that with Gabriel!”

“Angel, you’d be doing it without even knowing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cocoa, angel.”

“Cocoa?... ooooh! Yes, I do forget it and heat it up again most of the time…”

“And again, and again, and again. If they knew what the miracles were for, I can hear Gabriel screaming from here “just drink it, dammit!”” laughed Crowley.

A small smile tugged at Aziraphale’s lips, but then tarnished. The angel couldn’t laugh about Gabriel screaming at him just yet. Crowley was opening his mouth to smoothly derail his thoughts when Aziraphale turned crimson.

“What?” asked Crowley, terribly curious.

“Notification with details of the miracle…” mumbled Aziraphale, his voice faint.

“Yeah, so?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s fingers. Pointedly. Crowley looked at his fingers. Clueless. Anathema stared at them both. Pondering. Newt clapped his hands. Understanding.

“Oh, that’s a sex thing, right?” he exclaimed, proud to have gotten it.

“That’s got to be interesting,” mused Anathema.

“Well Crowley is very good at…”

“Let’s not go there,” halted Crowley, as red as an apple.

“How surprising that the demon is the shy one about sex and not the angel,” mentioned Newt without thinking.

Crowley proved that his glare, even behind glasses and when he was flushed from embarrassment, was no less potent. Newt was hiding behind Anathema and babbling about how it was late and they had to go. Aziraphale took them to the door, chatted a bit more, assured them that he and Crowley would love to come over sometime (speaking for Crowley, but it wasn’t as if Crowley would tell him “no” if the angel requested), then closed the door behind them.

“Shall we stay here tonight, dearest? I don’t fancy moving.”

“As you wish.”

A delighted smile lit up on Aziraphale’s face. They had watched _The Princess Bride_ and he knew that “as you wish” meant “I love you”.

“Oh, I really loved that film. All the banter and the dashing rescues…” gushed Aziraphale.

“I knew you would,” bragged Crowley.

He slithered up to Aziraphale, circling him, his fingers teasing his waist as he went, before wrapping securely around and dragging Aziraphale to him. They kissed, slow and passionate. Crowley broke their embrace with a last peck, and pulled away, leisurely. Aziraphale didn’t stop him. Crowley went to clean the back room as Aziraphale tidied the library for the next day.

It had been two weeks now. Even if Crowley flirted, Aziraphale didn’t initiate. Ever. The demon was starting to make his peace with the idea that they might never make love again, or at least really really nowhere as often.

“There’s still wine left, angel,” called Crowley.

“Such a good vintage, would be a shame not to finish it!” replied Aziraphale.

He entered the room and Crowley gulped. The angel had unravelled his bowtie, letting it dangle around his neck, his throat visible as a button had been undone, and he had rolled up his sleeves. Crowley was a demon of his word. But for Fuck’s sake, did Aziraphale make resisting him hard! But it wasn’t his fault if almost everything he did, and the little skin he showed, got Crowley’s blood boiling. That was on Crowley. And he was going to keep it in his pants.

He gave the angel his newly refilled glass of wine and shivered in repressed desire as their fingers brushed. He went to the sofa and collapsed on it. The angel followed, sitting so very close to him. Crowley leaned back against the armrest. Aziraphale smiled and lifted Crowley’s legs from the floor to make them rest on his lap, gently petting his knee as they drank.

The angel didn’t initiate sex. But he was the cuddling and kissing sort. Crowley could live with that. He uncoiled into the touch and hummed.

“It was lovely having them here.”

Crowley nodded, sipping his wine and contemplating his angel.

“You’re getting attached, aren’t you?”

“You know I can’t help it. This decade gave us quite the number of people to get attached to.”

Crowley smoothly rose from his lounging and curled around Aziraphale, resting his cheek on Aziraphale’s white curls, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his waist.

“Angel.”

“It is worth it, dear. Knowing them is worth the terrible heartache of losing them.”

If Crowley hadn’t been already completely besotted, he would have been right then. He kissed his angel who held him tighter. For a moment, he had the insane hope that it would turn to something else, but no, the angel didn’t push for more.

“And you’re one to talk about getting attached, nanny,” Aziraphale pointed out rather hauntingly but with a huge smile betraying him.

“Shut it.”

Crowley wondered if he was imagining the challenge in the eyes of his angel. If he uttered the words “then make me”, Crowley would count that as initiating. He could, right? That could count? But the angel didn’t. He did however sneak a hand into Crowley’s hair to comb through it. 

They drank a bit more, cuddled together, talking and bickering. Then there was no alcohol left around them, but Crowley wanted more; if he was properly smashed he wouldn’t think about how much he wanted the angel beneath him and screaming his name. It seemed Aziraphale was of the same mind about the alcohol but, unfortunately, not about the underneath and moaning in ecstasy bit.

“Let me grab another bottle, dearest.”

Aziraphale disentangled them and went to the part of the back room where he stored the alcohol. If the library was now in good order, the back room was another story, still a nonsensical mess. Just perfect, and comfy. Crowley observed his angel puttering about to find something to his taste. He snorted as the angel bent over a low table piled with books to try to reach a crate. His silly angel wiggling and puffing when he could just walk around it… well, it did give him a splendid view of that glorious ass. Crowley licked his lips.

And had Crowley not been fighting his own desires and averting his gaze to a more proper place (his face, because he couldn’t stop gazing at his angel) he would have missed the little glance from Aziraphale. A pleased little smirk adorning angelic features and a coy flutter of delicate eyelashes. 

It hit Crowley like a ton of bricks. The angel was tempting him. Tempting. Him. _That little shit._ His beloved bastard. Crowley watched as Aziraphale wriggled some more and panted a bit. Usually, Crowley would have slithered over to him, wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, pressed his pelvis to that squirming ass and leaned close to ask if Aziraphale needed any help. Aziraphale’s breath would have hitched, and Crowley would have started to rock slowly against him, making his intent clear. He would have trailed his fingers down, brushing the front of the angel’s pants but burying them into a quivering thigh. Aziraphale would have moaned a “yes”. Then Crowley would have bent him further over and taken him then and there.

Crowley itched to do just that. But no. He hid a grin with a yawn as he watched the angel throw in the towel and grab the bottle to get back to Crowley. The angel served himself first, and now that Crowley had understood the game, he could read the frustration in that little passive-aggressive act. 

They drank some more before Crowley elected to go to bed and Aziraphale decided to read a bit before joining him. He kissed his angel goodnight and ran up the stairs to throw himself on the bed that smelled like his angel. Pleased and amused beyond belief with his discovery, Crowley wrapped his body into the sheets and buried his nose in the cushions.

His angel wanted him! Just as much as he did. And tempted him! All the time! He stifled his laugh into the pillow. Now that he understood, some things came back into his mind under a new light. Aziraphale was learning what made Crowley tick and using it against him. Glorious bastard. So good at temptation that Crowley, a demon, hadn’t even noticed!

All those rolled-up sleeves, those untied bowties, those open shirts… Crowley had thought the angel was getting more comfortable. Not at all; Aziraphale was comfortable dressed to a tee! He had noticed the effect those little things had on Crowley… and he’d been tempting. Not all the time, but often enough. And the minx was learning.

Crowley never initiated anything when Aziraphale undressed in the bathroom, even if the angel left the door open. But if he did so in the bedroom? That was fair game. Crowley had wondered why Aziraphale sometimes chose to undress in their room rather than in the bathroom. Oh, had Crowley been naïve.

He stifled another besotted laugh into his pillow. Then as suddenly as his joy at this incredible discovery had appeared, his mood went down like a lead balloon. Aziraphale tempted… but didn’t ask. Ever. Madame Tracy’s words took on a new meaning. “ _I do hope he’s being honest with you, he is so repressed.” “Honest?” “Yes, about what he wants._ ”. And Crowley? Crowley, the fool, had missed the mark and gotten himself all tangled up in a misunderstanding. Madame Tracy hadn’t doubted Aziraphale’s desire to sleep with Crowley, she had known just how much he wanted that and more, she had pointed out his inability to _say so_.

How could Crowley have missed that? He knew the angel needed excuses for anything Heaven didn’t deem proper. Sleeping with a demon? Top of the list, that. But once Crowley had made the first move? Aziraphale had an excuse: he was doing what couples did, he was answering a request from his lover and so on. That made Crowley so angry and sad for his precious angel.

Crowley felt a new flash of adoration for his clever angel. Aziraphale managing to find loopholes to get what he wanted was a source of much glee for the demon. But Crowley would make Aziraphale say it.

## ***

The angel was late, and Crowley hadn’t received a silly picture of a duck or flower or whatever had derailed his angel on his way home. He hadn’t received an SMS asking if he wanted brioche either. But he had received an answer to his bond bracelet touch. Still, Crowley was worried.

Aziraphale was fond of routines, he stuck to them as much as he could and was a force of stability. Crowley was an agent of change, always moving, trying new stuff. But he had come to realise he was dependent on Aziraphale’s routines, they grounded him, like a kite left to its own devices but still tethered by his string.

The constant in his life had always been Aziraphale, the person he would turn to for a bit of familiarity, for comfort. The nightmares he had about the angel dying in a burning bookshop were distant memories, they resurfaced sometimes but not much. But the unease, the fear kept crawling back from time to time.

Fucking damn it. If the angel was puttering about in town then Crowley was going to go to him and keep him company. He grabbed his jacket and strode to the door, hissing at his plants as he passed them, and threw open the door.

Just like the first time Aziraphale had invited himself into Crowley’s flat, here was the angel, fretting at his door, looking for all the world as if he wanted to bolt. And holding a big paper bag in his hands. Crowley just knew it was a plant, he just _knew_.

Aziraphale had frozen on the spot, or rather stopped his pacing because one of his hands was tugging at his waistcoat, then playing with his buttons, then adjusting his bowtie. He looked like a rodent who, when faced with a predator, was doing a bit of cleaning up as a way to feel better even though it knew it was all but dead. Crowley had seen rats do that.

Crowley slowly stepped into the corridor and circled his angel, making a show of it, of checking the surroundings, proving to Aziraphale that he was taking care of him, making sure he was safe. When Crowley reached his left, he wrapped his arm around the angel’s waist and very gently steered him inside.

The click of the door behind them seemed to nearly discorporate Aziraphale on the spot, and Crowley hissed at it. He couldn’t stand to see Aziraphale afraid, afraid of him. Whatever the angel had in that bag of his, Crowley wasn’t going to like it. But he promised himself he would grit his teeth and take it like a demon to prove to Aziraphale he had nothing to be scared of.

“Alcohol?” he proposed.

He helped the angel out of his coat, then ushered him toward the living room, Aziraphale’s room, where he would feel marginally more at ease. He saw the glance the angel threw toward the plant on the windowsill and how he averted his gaze immediately after. Oh, he definitely wasn’t going to like what was coming. Crowley needed the alcohol too.

In any other circumstances, Crowley would have been delighted to see Aziraphale down three glasses of scotch one after the other. Right now, that didn’t make him smile. He sat expectantly on the couch, legs crossed and eyes not leaving the fretful angel.

Finally, seeming to gather all his courage, and Crowley knew just how much of that he had, Aziraphale came to him, grabbed his hand, kissed it and pushed the paper bag into his lap.

“Please, don’t be angry with me.”

Aziraphale wasn’t afraid of Crowley, but of his reaction? No… that wasn’t it… maybe of damaging their relationship? Yes, of course. Of Crowley disappearing on him and sleeping a century away. His precious angel. Crowley ripped the paper bag open, and sure enough, there was a… plant in it. If that thing could be called a plant. It was an Angel Wings plant but it was dying, barely salvageable. (2)

“Would you… would you take care of it? Make it better?” whispered Aziraphale, barely looking at Crowley.

Oh God. The realisation Crowley had just reached deserved the utterance of the Almighty’s name, for once. Even if it hurt to think it. Maybe _because_ it hurt. Crowley had failed to understand… Aziraphale had found a broken plant no one wanted and gifted it to Crowley, requesting he take care of it. Like Crowley took care of him. Aziraphale saw himself in those imperfect plants. The angel that all the others mocked and scorned, the strange one. He had listened to Crowley yell at his plants, threaten them and then kill them. And he had thought of Heaven. Of what a defective angel he was in their eyes, not able to meet standards that seemed impossible for him, deserving death.

Oh God. He had told Aziraphale he didn’t want defects.

Slowly, with all the gentleness he could muster, he started examining the plant, taking note of all the damage. Was that how Aziraphale saw himself? As something almost beyond saving? Crowley gently petted the white fluffy leaves.

“Of course, Aziraphale,” he agreed, making sure to look the angel in the eye as he did.

He heard the sigh of relief from his angel and lowered his gaze back to the broken plant.

“Alright, little one. I’ll be taking good care of you. We’ll make you all better.”

Crowley rose from the couch and started to make his way to the plant room. Seeing that Aziraphale wasn’t following, he retraced his path, grabbed the angel’s hand, and led him.

“Get me the big grey pot at the top of the shelf, angel,” he requested, “and the bag of earth, the one with lots of green on it.”

The previous owner of this poor Angel Wings hadn’t known a thing about plants and had clearly forgotten about it. No way had it come from a florist, or Crowley would have some choice words to share with said florist. He took the pot Aziraphale gave him, sat on a stool, and started layering the end of it with expanded clay balls.

“Where did you find the poor thing?” asked Crowley.

“It was abandoned outside a building. I just… I couldn’t leave it… and well… I thought… well… You…” stammered Aziraphale.

He was still twisting his hands, but at least he was looking at Crowley now. Mostly. And sitting on the stool next to him. Crowley shifted so his leg would rest against Aziraphale’s and felt the angel huddle a little more toward him.

“Yeah, I can take care of it, angel.”

He meant: I can take care of you. I will give you anything you need to heal. Crowley tried not to pay attention to the little voice in his head that told him he would have to heal _himself_ to accomplish that. And that Aziraphale had started the process for him.

As he worked, Crowley began to explain what he was doing, talking to the plant and Aziraphale, knowing the clever angel would hear the hidden words behind his sentences. After all, they were fluent in unspoken speech, had been communicating with it for centuries.

“Here’s a new pot, with more room to grow and spread roots so the plant’s more stable and can reach more resources. At the bottom, balls to keep water available and deal with the excess so it doesn’t make the roots rot. And now new earth., more nutritious and especially better suited to its needs.”

Environment was important, it could shape you. One needed many things to be able to reach one’s full potential. And some milieus were toxic and needed to be changed.

“Brace yourself, little one, this might hurt a little, but change never comes without its share of distress,” warned Crowley.

He hefted the plant out of its old pot, tearing the roots that had used the holes to spread. He cut off everything that had started to decay and intently removed as much earth as he could. Aziraphale helped by holding the plant as Crowley worked.

“Some of those old roots need to be trimmed and removed, the plant’s only hurting itself by trying to keep them and not directing precious resources to what it truly needs.” 

“Really?” asked Aziraphale, watching Crowley softly.

“Yeah. And you see, angel, this plant - it wouldn’t have survived on its own. It needs help.”

Delicately, Crowley put the Angel Wings into its new pot, gathered the earth around it, then watered it and placed a stick of fertilizer. He trimmed a bit of its leaves, putting some clay on the more injured stems.

“Now it needs direct sunlight,” assured Crowley as he surveyed his room to find the better spot without disturbing his other plants too much.

Lucky for Aziraphale that Crowley already knew how to care for this plant. He had been planning to get one for years now. Never got around to it.

“Aziraphale?” he asked as he noticed the angel had tidied and miracled blankets and cushions on the floor.

Aziraphale patted the red-and-black blanket underneath him and Crowley gingerly moved to sit next to him. His back rested against one of the columns for his elevated plants. A good thing, because Aziraphale settled his head on his lap, grabbed his hand to lace his fingers, and stared at the greenery.

“Your garden is beautiful, dearest. We should enjoy it more.”

Crowley slid his fingers into the white curls and Aziraphale sighed in pleasure. They stayed like that, Aziraphale lost in contemplation of the plants, Crowley watching and petting him as he savored the fact Aziraphale allowed him to see him this vulnerable he received that moment of vulnerability. Slowly Aziraphale started to close his eyes, fluttering them as if he was reluctant to go to sleep just yet. As he finally drifted off, he whispered:

“I love you, Crowley.”

And Crowley basked in that love as his plants basked in the sun.

“I love you, Aziraphale,” he replied softly, knowing the words would reach his angel even in slumber.

As usual, Crowley remained awake, vigilant. Cautiously, so as to not rouse Aziraphale, he changed positions so he was curled around his angel, his head now cushioned on Aziraphale’s ample stomach. He watched and marvelled at how trusting Aziraphale was, his body truly relaxed at last, no twitching, just his chest moving calmly in slumber. 

A knock shattered the peaceful scene and Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin, but managed to stay put for his angel. He knew that knock. Miss Aigrie. Mumbling about annoying neighbours, he miracled a cushion, playing the “remove yourself fast and insert pillow in your place to avoid disturbance” game.

The knocks got louder. Crowley hissed. Aziraphale mumbled, grabbing for Crowley and ending up buried in his pillow.

“Cr’wl’?”

“On it, angel,” whispered Crowley, kissing his hair and miracling a blanket.

He sauntered to his door, threw it open angrily (but silently) and hissed in Miss Aigrie’s face. She lifted an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

“Anthony, how rude.”

She had the good sense not to talk too loudly.

“You almost woke Aziraphale,” hissed Crowley.

“Oh. Apologies.”

They remained standing, judging each other and playing the “who’s going to blink first” game. Of course Crowley won, but Miss Aigrie still didn’t talk. Crowley looked behind him, to where his angel was resting, and relented:

“Yes?”

Miss Aigrie smirked, triumphant, and pushed a few washed Tupperwares into Crowley’s arms. Tartan ones.

“Do tell Aziraphale his cooking is getting better.”

“He asked for your advice?”

“Yes. And he’s been testing food on you to give to me if it’s satisfactory.”

Crowley wondered if those things really happened in that order or the other way around.

“I see.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t been poisoned yet. But then you young rock ‘n’ roll types are resilient as cockroaches.”

Crowley hissed, gripped his Tupperware protectively.

“Aziraphale’s cooking isn’t disastrous!” he protested.

Miss Aigrie chuckled.

“Oh, I can call you a cockroach, but Hell be upon me if I criticize your angel’s cooking?”

“Yesss.” 

She patted his cheek, moving her hand away just as he was about to bite her.

“Don’t let me keep you, go back to him.”

She turned away. Crowley sighed. Aziraphale was making sure she felt less lonely, he knew it. Sauntering to the kitchen, he put away the Tupperware.

“Crowley!”

In seconds Crowley was back into the plant room. Nothing was amiss but for Aziraphale, still asleep, curled up on his side and crying softly.

“Crowley… don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he was whimpering.

Crowley cradled him in his arms, rocking him gently as he used to do with Warlock.

“I’m here, angel. Wake up, I’m here,” he assured, covering his forehead in kisses.

Blue eyes opened and Aziraphale turned in his embrace to wrap around him. The angel was awake but clearly unfocused and lost.

“Please don’t leave. Don’t go to Alpha Centauri. I can’t… not without you. I’m so sorry I said no. Please don’t leave me!”

“Angel, I didn’t leave. Remember? I stayed with you. We’re leaving together.”

That appeared to reach him, but the nightmare seemed to have touched Aziraphale’s deepest fears. Waking up left it feeling real, as they sometimes did - fresh and vivid and very much disorienting. Aziraphale clung to Crowley harder. 

“D… don’t go to sleep and… I’m sorry for the plants, I shouldn’t have pushed, I…” 

They had hurt each other so many times, without truly meaning to. And Aziraphale carried a lot of guilt, especially since he still sometimes pushed Crowley’s boundaries.

“Angel, it was a nightmare. I’m here. I’m not going to leave or sleep for years. I promise you.”

Suddenly inspired, Crowley touched the bond bracelet and felt Aziraphale jolt in surprise. He lowered his blue gaze to his arm and tentatively touched his own. It grounded Crowley and it seemed to ground Aziraphale too.

“Nightmare… gosh…”

“I shouldn’t have left your side.”

“Crowley dearest, no.”

Crowley nodded and Aziraphale huddled in his arms, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Angel. You know how I discovered the burning bookshop?” 

“You were running from Hastur and Ligur.”

“No. I was coming to get you, try to convince you again.”

“A third time?” whispered Aziraphale.

His voice was calm but the shine in his eyes betrayed his emotions, as well as the little wobble of his chin. 

“Leaving without you made no sense, angel. I’m not leaving you. And if we fight… well, we’ve improved, right? We talk freely to each other now, right?”

Aziraphale nodded but didn’t release his hold on Crowley. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) quote from the book https://pratchettgeek.tumblr.com/post/185110151830/aziraphale-was-the-first-angel-ever-to-own-a  
> (2) visual for the plant (and background info if you’re interested)   
>  https://plantcaretoday.com/senecio-angel-wings.html


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely people who reviewed :)  
> Thanks for the kudoes too !

Crowley was sitting in the living room, waiting for Aziraphale to get ready to start the day. He had removed himself from the bedroom because his self-control was starting to erode. If Crowley had thought resisting Aziraphale had been hard before, he had been sorely wrong. Now that he knew what the angel was doing (i.e. tempting him) it was pure torture not to answer.

So far Aziraphale deployed many temptations and was getting more blatant by the day. He had started slowly: rolled-up sleeves, button undone, shirt untucked allowing a glimpse of skin, ankles visible, nightgown sliding off a shoulder. Then a bit more daring: shirt fully open, underwear poking out of pants, undressing in the bedroom, wriggling in compromising positions, reading Oscar Wilde (yes, that fucking counted). Then aggressive (well, by his angel’s standards): moaning while eating (not in his usual way, but sexily. Crowley had been listening since Rome to Aziraphale eating and those were not his “eating something scrumptious” sounds!) making Crowley feed him, licking Crowley’s fingers as he gave him a piece of orange, licking his own arm slowly as he let juice get all over him, placing himself in even more suggestive positions (still maintaining the thin line of innocence: like lying on his stomach on the bed and pretending he didn’t know his nightgown was rucked up to his ass, leaving his delicious legs and thighs in full view. 

He was alternating between all of those, sometimes using several in the same day. The more aggressive ones had appeared later on, as he grew more visibly frustrated. Crowley had had to resort to thinking of the 14th century to keep himself in check. The 14th century! That angel was a menace. If Crowley had wondered if Aziraphale had been any good at temptation before, well he had proven just how good at it he was.

Crowley’s mind, of course, wasn’t helping matters. The flat and library weren’t safe places, since Crowley had taken Aziraphale on almost every available surface. Pressed against the bookshelves or the walls. Bent over the tables or chairs. Every position possible on the sofa, and the bed, and carpet… Right. Not thinking about that.

His mind, the treacherous thing, reminded him of all the times he had made love to Aziraphale, be it good or bad. Right. Focusing on the bad. Good idea. Like when he had ripped some of his angel’s hair out with his watch, when he had been stuck in his freaking pants, when he had sneezed because of Aziraphale’s breath too close to his nose, when he had snapped the sock garters a little too hard, when they had rolled off the bed, when limbs had collided with walls in an unpleasant manner… Crowley could continue on and on.

But he wasn’t going to. Because it wasn’t working. He wasn’t supposed to think about that. Right. Plague. Vomiting. Death. Pus. Children dying. Aziraphale in stockings. Oh they knew how to make the legs and ankles look fine at those times…

Forsaking mishaps, in truth Crowley’s prowess in bed was demonic. He could ditch human limitations and push reality just enough to allow certain things (like taking Aziraphale while standing, the wall supporting the angel’s back, as Crowley carried most of his weight and made him scream his name). But one of his greatest assets was that he couldn’t imagine himself coming before his angel. So he did not. Except one memorable time…

_Crowley was taking his sweet sweet time ravishing his angel; kissing, licking, biting and marking every inch. It was one of their early times and Crowley was preparing him slowly, driving him wild with desire. He had worked him open until Aziraphale became a mess of cries, moans and pants, shaking with need._

_Lazily stroking Aziraphale’s flanks, Crowley had slid between quivering ass cheeks, rubbing pleasantly there, making his angel keen in want and distress at being toyed with._

_“Crowley… Crowley… Crowley…” he sang out desperately._

_Crowley had pushed inside, sinking with deliberate slowness until he bottomed out, then removing himself completely to push back just as languidly. Over and over again, knowing just how much his angel loved the sensation of being penetrated. Aziraphale was arching on the bed, tearing at the sheets and crying his name._

_“Please… please… Crowley… please.”_

_Sheathed fully, leaning forward a bit to get deeper, Crowley stilled._

_“Anything you want, angel,” he half-teased, half-promised._

_Blue eyes, filled with tears of bliss, had shone on him and, reaching for Crowley with adoration, Aziraphale had screamed: “You!”_

_And just like that, Crowley had slammed forward and orgasmed into his angel, taken by surprise by the intensity of his release. Aziraphale, clinging to his shoulders, had let out a soft “oh” of surprise, before clenching around him to give him more pleasure, letting Crowley ride the waves of ecstasy._

_Crowley had collapsed on his angel, dazed, and then realized with horror that Aziraphale was still painfully hard, hadn’t come. Crowley was mortified! Aziraphale had laughed in delight, closing his legs around Crowley to keep him buried inside him, wrapping his arms securely around him to prevent him from fleeing. Crowley had hidden his face in his angel’s neck, ashamed, mumbling apologies._

_“Oh, my dear silly old serpent, of course I want you,” his angel had told him, very pleased._

“Crowley?” called Aziraphale in the present.

“Ngk!” said Crowley nearly jumping out of his chair.

The angel was so close! He must have gotten close while Crowley was trying, and failing, not to think about him and how he felt writhing underneath him. Aziraphale bent over him, putting Crowley’s leg between his as he presented the side of his neck to Crowley.

“Did I put on too much perfume?” he asked innocently.

Oh, once Aziraphale surrendered, Crowley would make him pay for all those temptations. But two could play this game. He nosed gently at the skin and gave a tentative lick, making Aziraphale bite off a moan.

“Perfect,” he replied, reclining in his chair.

Aziraphale gave him a tight smile, removed himself from Crowley and pouted. He was so endearing.

“Well, let’s get to the library then.”

They almost made it in time for opening time. Almost. Because Crowley was forced to slow down. Not because Aziraphale griped and bemoaned his speed, but because the angel had grabbed his hand, laced their fingers and placed them on his thigh. A little bit higher than was proper. Crowley hadn’t wanted him to let go, and had begrudgingly driven a bit slower so the angel wouldn’t need to hold the grab handle.

Dalorian was opening, surrounded by a cluster of their usual folks. LGBT+ people had always known Aziraphale’s place to be safe for them. Now? Well, it was their hanging-out place. Lilly had pushed to have food and drinks available for a small sum of money. They had installed a vending machine. Aziraphale had been against it until a place was dedicated to it, and he’d only had to get angry at the teens once for littering (you never wanted to get Aziraphale angry twice. And if you did, Crowley made sure a third time wasn’t an option).

Crowley had negotiated for healthy food in the machine. That was one of his. How truly wonderful to have people crave sugar, only to be faced with healthy food to make them feel guilty (especially since no one wanted those so it was always available, which couldn’t be said of the empty-calorie treats). Some people decided to be stronger than their desires, only to realize the apple was in fact pricier than the bag of crisps, so they settled for the crisps instead, feeling both stingy and awful. And oh, Crowley was truly an evil mastermind, because those who relented and took not the apple but the so-called healthy biscuits… well those weren’t what they claimed to be, all marketing, so they ate something unsatisfying for nothing. It wasn’t killing two birds with one stone, this scheme of his, it was murdering a whole flock of them.

The vending machine had drummed up some business, so it wasn’t surprising to see a small crowd gathered in front of the door. But Crowley felt something was off. He leaned against the Bentley, surveying the scene.

“Dearest?”

“Something’s off.”

“Danger?” worried Aziraphale, his eyes darting everywhere and his hands starting to worry his waistcoat (just as worry did with his nerves).

Crowley swept the idea away with one lazy flick of his hand.

“Nah.”

Shaded eyes roved over the people until they caught on brown hair. Crowley sucked a breath in and sauntered to the former bookshop, slithering easily between the honking cars, Aziraphale at his heels apologizing to the drivers with smiles.

“Warlock!” called Crowley, hovering in front of the child.

“A mother’s instincts,” mumbled Aziraphale, smiling slyly at the dirty look Crowley sent his way.

“Nanny!” yelled Warlock, throwing himself into Crowley’s arms.

Hard day, then, for the eleven-year-old to forget he was too cool for hugs. Aziraphale shooed his customers inside (and wasn’t that a sight, he usually wanted them out), murmurs of “nanny?” echoing from the regulars.

“You should have called ahead, dear boy,” gently admonished the angel.

“Whoua… Brother Francis? Plastic surgery sure does wonders!”

“I huh… thank you? I suppose…” stammered Aziraphale.

Crowley would be proud of Warlock’s tactics to derail the conversation later. It was 9am. He was in front of the library with a backpack. It took several hours to get there from where he was supposed to be. Crowley put his fists on his hips, and gave his signature disapproving glare through the shades. He didn’t need to be dressed as an evil Mary Poppins to channel his inner nanny. Warlock shuffled his feet.

“Have you run away, young man?” Crowley asked sternly.

Aziraphale gasped. “Oh dear!” he exclaimed.

Then he was gently steering the child inside, into the back room, checking him for injuries or anything amiss, already pushing a cup of hot cocoa into his hands and cooing gently.

“Whatever happened, Warlock dear?”

The pre-teen crossed his arms and frowned, going for edgy. Crowley let his shades lower slightly on his nose, and Warlock started talking in a rush about how his parents were fighting again, and how they wouldn’t let him come visit because they wanted to send him to one of their stupid camps, and that they were horrible and he missed Crowley and Brother Francis. So he had taken matters into his own hands and taken the bus.

“You took the bus on your own?” asked Aziraphale, looking faint.

“Well duh. Nanny made sure I knew how to take care of myself. I’m almost an adult now! And I made sure to only ask women with children for directions. Anyway, they’re all my future slaves. It’s ok to need help from them -- after all, that’s their only use.”

Crowley wondered if they had done a wonderful job of raising the little ass or if they had truly messed him up. Aziraphale was glaring fondly at him and making sure Warlock was drinking his cocoa.

“Did you leave a note?” inquired Crowley, sitting down next to his… whatever Warlock was.

“Yes Nanny, times and all.”

It was a rule. Warlock had had the tendency to hide as a child, avoiding his parents’ quarrels. So as to not worry the whole house, Nanny Ashtoreth had negotiated that he left a note with where he was going and what time he had left. In exchange, Nanny Ashtoreth would come get him only after one hour (that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to check on him sooner).

Those passive-aggressive notes had been priceless and Aziraphale had kept some of them on the fridge. Normal Whateverfathers would have drawings, they got escape notes. Usually Warlock would hide in Aziraphale’s shed, which made the angel very glad and smug.

One of the first notes had been Warlock’s parents drawn as monsters (because they had refused to let him cross the street on his own), Nanny Ashtoreth in a corner to reflect on her behaviour (because she had agreed with them) and Warlock in the shed with a snail wearing a hat (Brother Francis, of course), and a huge clock indicating the time (he had been too young to read it, so Nanny Ashtoreth had explained she wanted to see the clock as it was when he left, and since she expected to be able to tell the time even from an horrid absolutely-not-accurate drawing, she managed). Then they had the written ones: “I hate you. Nanny too. Only Brother Francis loves me. I am dead (in garden, tall tree). 11am. Warlock”.

“You know I have to call your parents to tell them you arrived safely,” informed Crowley, already unlocking his phone.

“Yes Nanny.”

“Don’t worry, dear boy, we won’t let them get you too soon,” assured Aziraphale.

Two pairs of pleading eyes turned on Crowley and seriously, how was he supposed to resist that? He wasn’t. Because he was a demon, and demons surrendered to temptation. There. “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.” Fuck. Crowley really hated Oscar Wilde.

“Hello Mrs Dowling, Nanny Ashtoreth speaking. Yes, he is with us. He should remain for a few days. No need for security, you know I have all the credentials needed.”

There had been a few tries at kidnapping Warlock. Nanny Ashtoreth had proven quite the opponent, very flexible and adept at not lethal but truly painful poisons. One memorable time they had tried while Brother Francis was the one taking care of Warlock. They didn’t talk about that. Nor about the fact that the men were now in a mental institution.

“Ah, Mr Dowling,” drawled Crowley.

Aziraphale held out his hand and Crowley dropped the phone in it. Nanny Ashtoreth was a woman, and as such wouldn’t be listened to by Mr Dowling. Brother Francis, even if he had only been one of the help, at least was a man.

“Mr Dowling, what a pleasure. Why yes, we will gladly keep the boy for a few days. I daresay he shows the will of his father, at such a young age. Oh, but wouldn’t it be terrible if the press got wind of your son running away, couldn’t risk such a scandal… better if the official story is that you sent him to his old Nanny and Gardener, don’t you think so? I knew a man of reason like you would see the sense in that. Yes, good day to you too.”

Warlock was lounging on Crowley’s side, because it wasn’t a hug if Warlock wasn’t doing the hugging, following the exchange rapturously and getting more relaxed as time passed.

“Did Brother Francis just threaten dad?” he whispered.

“Just a bit of persuasion, dear boy. Threatening, what an ugly word, dear me!” mimicked Crowley.

They dissolved into laughter even as Aziraphale pouted, fighting a smile of his own. He settled with them, trapping a pretending-not-to-be-willing Warlock between them, and started reading aloud. Warlock was the first to get taken by sleep, Crowley following suit not too long after, leaning comfortably on both of them.

## ***

Fuck. Crowley had forgotten just how tiring it was to take care of a child. Especially a spoiled one. Crowley sprawled on the bed, doing a great impression of a starfish. But truly, it… well, it hurt to see how much Warlock acted out so he could be noticed, because he was used to his parents only taking care of him at those moments.

Fortunately Crowley was very good at implementing his ideas and making others think they had been the ones to come up with them. Hence how Warlock and the teens had ended up spending the day studying astronomy and making a life model with candles. Safely sheltered into lanterns, Crowley had bought many of those for Lilly so if she got the utterly mad idea of lighting candles into the library again, it would be safe.

“You are so good with children, dearest,” praised Aziraphale as he undressed.

In the bedroom. Because he wanted Crowley discorporated. And Crowley was a masochist and couldn’t help but watch him. Even as the angel started crawling on the bed, holding his nightgown with one hand, supposedly not wishing to trip on it, but really simply exposing skin to Crowley’s hungry gaze. And the bastard even had the nerve to pretend to belatedly notice, blush and giggle about how untoward he was. Crowley valiantly resisted ripping that white horror off and fucking Aziraphale into the mattress. 

Crowley nearly jumped out of both pyjamas, and his corporation, as Aziraphale’s hands tugged Crowley’s rucked-up silk shirt down on his stomach, feather light on his skin, and the angel’s elbow “accidentally” brushing Crowley’s member. For an insane moment, Crowley thought this was finally it, that he’d managed to get Aziraphale, the stubborn mule, to initiate but no.

“You’ll get cold,” explained Aziraphale, cheeks tinted red.

“Ngk.”

“I know how you hate that…”

“Thankssss.”

Crowley’s lower regions hadn’t betrayed him, because they were under firm orders not to react until Aziraphale made a real move. Crowley’s tongue, however, had a mind of its own and forked. Damned thing. 

The angel made himself comfortable, book in hand, and Crowley could swear he heard Aziraphale’s breath hitch when Crowley grabbed for him and buried his nose into his side. They waited. In the end, Aziraphale truly started reading and Crowley let himself be lulled to sleep by the sound of turning pages.

Or not. He could hear small feet padding down the corridor.

“Angel?”

“I hear him too.”

They weren’t surprised when the door opened slowly and a young head poked in. Seeing them cuddling, Warlock bit his lip but soon noticed their eyes were fixed on him.

“Can’t sleep?” mumbled Crowley.

Aziraphale patted the bed and Warlock, forgetting all his pre-teen resolutions, hurried to join them, shamelessly crawling under the covers and separating his whateverfathers with all the innocence of children persuaded they were the centre of the world. Crowley sneaked an arm behind Warlock and took hold of Aziraphale’s hand; the angel could turn pages one-handed. He received a gentle squeeze in return.

“I don’t want to go home,” announced Warlock in a plaintive voice. 

“My dear, your parents are waiting for you and school is going to start again soon,” replied Aziraphale, lowering his book to let Warlock see all his compassion.

There was silence. Warlock knew there were no arguments that could make him win this battle. He had been trying ever since being allowed to stay. Warlock started braiding Crowley’s hair like he used to as a child.

“Nanny, Zira,” he had borrowed the nickname from the children at the library, “you are together now, aren’t you?’

“Yes, dear boy,” agreed Aziraphale without an ounce of hesitation.

Crowley _ngked_ and felt the pad of a thumb caress his knuckles. It was still so new to have Aziraphale so free to recognize what they were for each other. Crowley was used to the angel denying their friendship in public, and even sometimes in private.

“Why don’t you fight like mum and dad?”

“That isn’t… what we want from our relationship, it’s not our conception of love,” replied Aziraphale, treading carefully. 

Warlock nodded sagely. Time ticked slowly, little braids marking the minutes. Both Crowley and Aziraphale knew something was coming, could feel it from the dread in their bones.

“I don’t think dad and mum love each other.”

The pin had been removed from the grenade. Crowley and Aziraphale braced themselves. Warlock looked at his hands braiding Crowley’s hair and whispered so quietly it could have been missed, had an angel and demon not been waiting for it:

“I don’t think they love me.” 

“Yeah,” sighed Crowley.

Fat tears dropped on Warlock’s hands as he began to cry in earnest. He snuggled into Crowley’s waiting arms, grabbing blindly for Aziraphale to get him to hold him too. After a while he was calm again but didn’t move.

“Thanks. For telling the truth,” he hiccupped.

Aziraphale was petting Warlock’s hair. Crowley was rubbing his back. This was part of how they had chosen to raise him. No lying about the important stuff. No taking him for a fool.

“They love you in their own way, but not as parents should love their child. You serve their purpose and their love is conditional,” explained Aziraphale.

“You mum wanted you so she could feel like a woman and to please her husband, but she didn’t want to burden herself with the sacrifice being a mother implied. You’re an accessory to her image. But she does worry about you. Your father wanted an heir to mold into the man he wished he was, to use to remain in power. He too didn’t want to burden himself with the sacrifices necessary to raise a child. He loves you as long as you conform to what he wants you to be,” grumbled Crowley.

Softly Aziraphale made Warlock raise his chin and look him in the eye.

“But none of this concerns you or is your fault, you understand?”

“They don’t love you as they should, but that’s on them,” spat Crowley.

Warlock nodded.

“And that means that you owe them nothing, dear. You hear me? Don’t let them pretend you do. Don’t let them use their stature as your parents to get you to go against your beliefs, don’t let them use a distorted love to prevent you from being yourself. You don’t have to prove anything to them,” solemnly urged Aziraphale.

Crowley blinked at the rawness in those words. He knew Aziraphale was thinking of Heaven, of how the pretence of love was a weapon they used. Warlock, as children tended to, heard how those words came from the heart, from personal experience.

“Ok.”

“You will find the family you deserve as you grow,” assured Crowley.

“Like you and Zira found each other?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I found you two and you’re the best,” assured Warlock, smiling through his tears.

“No we aren’t,” said Crowley and Aziraphale at the same time.

Warlock huffed in a way that painfully reminded Crowley of Aziraphale. Then, trying to look cool, he settled more fully into the bed, making it clear he was going to sleep here whether they agreed with it or not. Once Warlock was asleep, Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a distressed look.

“Do you think it’s ok to tell an eleven year old child his parents don’t love him?” worried Aziraphale.

“I don’t know, angel. But isn’t it worse to let him believe they do when he can feel that they don’t, and let him destroy himself as he tries to gain the affection they can’t give him?”

“Right. I don’t like those choices,” sighed Aziraphale.

“Me neither, angel.”

The next day, they put Warlock onto a bus, with broken hearts but knowing it was for the best.

## ***

“Is the sauce ready, angel?” asked Crowley.

“Almost, it needs to reduce a bit more.”

Aziraphale took a small dish, poured a bit of the sauce in it and turned to give Crowley a taste. Crowley hissed at him warningly, coiling around the plates he was decorating. Aziraphale rolled his eyes and made a show of placing one hand on his face to obscure his vision, before giving the dish to Crowley, who tasted it.

“Yeah, good. I think you found the missing ingredient.”

“Berries, who would have thought.”

Crowley shrugged, even if Aziraphale couldn’t see him, and turned the angel back to his stove. In companionable silence they continued their respective activities.

“Dearest, it’s ready,” announced Aziraphale.

“Pour it in a piping bag,” demanded Crowley, before adding “and don’t peek!”

“Yes, dearest,” chuckled the angel.

But before Aziraphale could burn himself trying to obey Crowley’s order, the demon was beside him holding the piping bag. He had survived a car on fire, hot sauce couldn’t defeat him. And everything had to remain hot, otherwise it wouldn’t be good. It was the only miracle they allowed in their cooking endeavours.

“Can’t I help you?” asked Aziraphale.

“No. Go get Miss Aigrie, since you insist on her eating with us,” pointedly suggested Crowley.

“Yes, yes, I will get out of your hair, you grumpy serpent,” agreed Aziraphale, his tone fond.

Crowley grunted, concentrating on his art. He had missed that. Creating, drawing. He had always kept up to date with the painting world. He wasn’t as passionate as Aziraphale with his books, but it was still a consuming interest. But Crowley had never… well, he hadn’t wanted to try his hand at it. Too raw. He had participated in making the stars. After the Fall, he had distanced himself from the creating, except for clever schemes. It had felt too dangerous to let others see this side of him. Now? He could do whatever he fucking wanted.

Aziraphale had started to cook, had griped about how what he did looked like nothing at all, unlike the fancy restaurants he enjoyed, so Crowley had taken the opportunity to try his hand at culinary art. It was now an activity they did together, the angel cooking, the demon dressing the plates.

“It’ll be served soon, Margaret,” assured Aziraphale’s voice from the living room.

“I’m sure Anthony’s making sure my plate’s cold,” griped Miss Aigrie.

“Not at all. He’s making sure his craft is perfect, and you know he would never risk spoiling the food I cooked,” serenely replied Aziraphale.

“Point taken.”

It was always a treat to have Aziraphale shut down Miss Aigrie’s game of “mean little old lady” by turning her own arguments against her. Crowley knew the angel was including her in their life so she would feel less alone. They had even received thank you notes from the other neighbours. Crowley had gone to the cellar to cut all the wires for the wifi as retaliation. (He could have had Minion’s pack eat the wires, but he couldn’t risk the intervention of an exterminator. So he had done so himself, with a wire cutter and much demonic glee.)

Balancing three plates, topped with a cover to preserve the suspense, was a little perilous but Crowley managed just fine. Even if he hissed as Miss Aigrie pretended to try and trip him, Aziraphale giving a disapproving, if amused, tut to stop her.

“Oh, Crowley! How wonderful!” gushed Aziraphale as he removed the cover.

The cooked salmon had been cut in thin slices and arranged to look like a live fish. Its scales were drawn with the sauce, just enough to be artistic and tasty. Underneath it and at its sides, the cooked spinach had been made to look like waves, cream at the top of the big ones, red berries scattered inside like jewels. As for the mashed potatoes, they were in the sky in small bundles, looking like planets. Satellites, belts and such were made by the sauce. In an arc ending next to the fish’s head, the rest of the sauce drew a falling star.

Miss Aigrie opened her mouth with a twinkle in her eyes, but Aziraphale caught her gaze and mouthed “Don’t.” Crowley pretended he didn’t see that.

“It is indeed beautiful,” offered Miss Aigrie.

“A praise from you? Are you sick?” teased Crowley.

“See, Aziraphale? This lad needs a firm hand, you’re too kind to him,” sternly said Miss Aigrie.

“One cannot be too kind,” replied Aziraphale.

Crowley kissed him. Margaret made a gagging noise.

“Please, not in front of the food,” she reproached.

They dug in, agreeing this was Aziraphale’s best work yet. Pleasant conversation, at least as much as possible with Margaret Aigrie as a guest, was made. Then Aziraphale escorted her back to her door, smiling softly as she thanked him, holding his hands in her cupped ones in a real show of gratitude. Crowley watched from the corridor and laughed as Margaret gave Crowley the finger as soon as Aziraphale had his back turned. 

“I ate too much,” complained Crowley as he snapped his pyjamas on.

“You could have let me finish your plate, dear.”

“No. Not something you cooked.”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes became impossibly soft and Crowley fought down the urge to evade them. He felt himself blush.

“I’ll try to make you smaller portions then,” promised Aziraphale.

“Well, that or don’t complain when I sleep the day away.”

“I shan’t wake you tomorrow then,” agreed the angel.

Never mind the fact that Aziraphale never woke Crowley. He would make coffee in the hope that the smell would lure Crowley awake, but otherwise he let him sleep to his heart’s content. One memorable time Crowley had caught the angel blowing the fumes of fresh coffee directly into his nose.

Crowley tried to never sleep more than two days in a row so as to not worry the angel. He knew the angel hovered around him when he slept more than the night away, and the warmth of the bond bracelet was sometimes still fresh when he woke. Crowley wondered if feeling it actually dragged him out of sleep.

They tidied up, and Crowley could appreciate the ease, the intimacy of doing chores together. How seamlessly they navigated the room and each other, revelling into the barest of touches, not secret anymore, but signs of that closeness finally in the open. Crowley loved how Aziraphale seemed to sense when Crowley was going to kiss him and lifted his cheek up to receive it just a second before Crowley bent down to give it.

“Bed?” asked Crowley as he yawned.

“Grand idea, let me just select a book, dearest.”

So the angel wasn’t going to sleep. Crowley shrugged, snapped his pyjamas on, fluffed his pillow, curled into the sheets and waited for Aziraphale to join him. When the angel did, protectively clutching a book in his hands, Crowley was facing the door, his eyes following his angel as usual. Aziraphale placed his book on the bed.

“Wilde,” spat Crowley as he glimpsed the title.

So the angel was in that kind of mood. “Teleny”, a homoerotic novel, attributed to Oscar Wilde. And Aziraphale _knew_ how Crowley was jealous of Oscar Wilde, and how that author drove him, well… wild. It was a provocation.

Crowley was proved right as Aziraphale started undressing in the bedroom. Putting on a show while trying not to make it obvious.

“Dearest, you know he’s one of my favourite authors.”

“You can’t read Wilde in our bed,” protested Crowley.

His eyes were following his angel’s deft fingers, unwrapping the bowtie, as one would a gift, letting it drop around his neck, then unfastening button-by-button, slow, deliberate.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

It was a statement. Aziraphale knew Crowley wouldn’t stop him. He was right. Crowley grumbled and turned in the bed, pretending he was going to sleep, but keeping his attention on Aziraphale. A small twitch of angelic lips told him Aziraphale knew.

The discussion having finished, the angel had lost his reason to face Crowley to undress, so he turned, shrugging his waistcoat off. Then untucking his shit from his pants, then a show of removing the snake cuffs, letting their shine catch Crowley’s attention. He slid the shirt off, first revealing a shoulder, a glimpse of back, an upper arm, an elbow. A rustle as it fell free from his arm, the roll of the other shoulder to get it off. Aziraphale’s back was naked, and what a sight, the curve of his spine, the muscles underneath the cushion of fat, skin that begged to be bitten like the angel’s much-loved brioche.

Crowley heard the buttons of the pants popping free. It was highly erotic to hear and not see. He bit his lip. The angel bent down to remove his shoes, giving Crowley a nice view of how good his tailor was, his ass perfectly highlighted. The clever tease didn’t remove his socks yet. He rose again and let his pants drop, stepping out of them, then bending again, clad in nothing else but his shorts, garters and socks. Crowley nearly whimpered. And the angel knew what he was doing, peeking (in what he thought was a discreet fashion), as he unclasped the sock garters, to see if his striptease was being watched and enjoyed.

At last, Aziraphale hooked his fingers into his underwear and slid it down from thick thighs, nice knees and muscled calves. And that perfect round ass quivered at his movements. A pause, a discreet glance toward Crowley.

Aziraphale took the nightgown he had placed on a chair’s back, and put it on, the cotton caressing his skin as Crowley wished he could. The angel collected his clothes to place them into the wardrobe. His pocket watch fell from his waistcoat and Aziraphale grappled with it but didn’t manage to catch it. He tutted softly, put away his garments, then set to retrieve the watch.

That was almost Crowley’s undoing. Oh, he liked his angel playing coy, teasing, tempting, flirting, putting on a show and being seductive. But what he adored? Aziraphale being himself. Clambering on all fours on the floor to get the damn watch that had fallen under the wardrobe, his nightgown hiked up so he wouldn’t step on it, “cursing” angelically (no, “drat”, “gosh”, and “get back here, you silly thing” were not real curses).

That Aziraphale made Crowley want to get out of bed, saunter to him, smoothly retrieve the watch, give it back to a beaming angel… and then thoroughly debauch said angel as payment for his kindness. He managed to stay put and watched, amused and terribly fond, as Aziraphale finally succeeded in getting the watch, speaking sternly to it, and huffing in annoyance, absolutely unaware of how delicious he appeared to Crowley all puffy and irritated.

As it was, the angel seemed very put out to not have had Crowley react and to have, in his eyes, destroyed all his sexy persona. He climbed into the bed, got under the covers and angrily opened his Wilde book. Crowley scooted to him, wrapped his arms around his plump middle and settled his head on his lap. Fingers immediately invited themselves into Crowley’s hair and he sighed in contentment.

“I love you,” Crowley said unabashedly. 

“Do you know why I love Oscar Wilde so much?”

Crowley groaned.

“Not really what I hoped to hear as an answer,” grumbled Crowley, biting Aziraphale’s stomach through his nightgown. He received a gentle tug on his hair as retaliation.

“Hush. Let me talk.”

“Not if it’s about fucking Wilde.”

Aziraphale gave him a look and Crowley grumbled some more, hiding his face in Aziraphale’s lap as a petulant child would.

“He reminded me of you.”

Crowley’s head went back up so fast he almost got whiplash.

“Whut?”

“Clever, unapologetic, boisterous, witty, didn’t care for what others thought of him… a bit of a dork too, to use that delightful American term.”

“Angel…”

Crowley’s voice was thick. Aziraphale gazed at him adoringly, kissed his temple and caressed his cheek with the back of his hand before going back to petting his hair.

“Go to sleep, dearest.”

Settling back into that loving embrace, Crowley did. He woke up tangled up with his angel, surprised to find him still in bed when the sun was clearly up, and setting again.

“Azzziraphale?” he slurred.

“A bit more sleep, my dear?”

Mumbling, Crowley buried his face into the juncture between thigh and waist, his favourite spot. During the night he had wound himself around the angel, and tangled himself in an elaborate way that proved again that he had no spine. He was perfectly at ease.

“Mmrrr.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Dunno.”

“I’m a bit peckish. I would rather fancy some of last night’s dinner, and maybe some sweets. A late brunch… or is it a dinch?”

“Dinnerunch?” proposed Crowley.

“Lunder?”

“Supunch?” outbid Crowley.

“Brunchdinner?”

“Oh getting greedy there, angel three at once?”

“Well, you get my point.”

Crowley tightened his hold. Aziraphale sighed fondly, exasperated, but didn’t move a toe.

“You missed the day,” remarked Crowley.

“Didn’t want to disturb you.”

Both of them knew Crowley slept like a log, and Aziraphale getting up rarely woke him if he didn’t feel like it. Aziraphale had stayed for him. Because he enjoyed being with him. Crowley gave gifts. Aziraphale gave time.

“That deserves a reward. Tell you what, angel, I’ll get you food, you stay right here.”

“I assume we’re not leaving the bed then?”

“What for? The day’s almost gone anyway.”

“Still a shame to…”

“I’ll bring my astrology book and we’ll read it together,” interrupted Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up at that, as Crowley knew they would.

“You drive a hard bargain, wily old serpent.”

“Just say “yes”, angel.”

“Oh. Fine. You win,” playfully surrendered Aziraphale.

They kissed tenderly and Crowley begrudgingly left the bed, knowing that he would be getting straight back in. He went to the kitchen and started to prepare a tray.

“You drooled all over my nightgown,” griped Aziraphale from the bedroom.

Crowley lifted an eyebrow in surprise, shrugged, and chose to ignore it. Which, as usual, meant that it came back in his face like a boomerang. A sexy boomerang. Aziraphale shaped. Crowley’s mouth hung open, might even unhinge itself if it kept at it. Crowley vaguely wondered if it was a snake instinct indicating he wanted to shallow Aziraphale whole. Good thing the tray was still on the counter, because it would have ended up on the floor.

The floor on which an almost naked angel padded barefoot. Gone was the frilly nightgown. The only thing _not_ protecting Aziraphale’s modesty was… was Crowley’s shirt. The only one he had never had the heart to send back into the void, the one that hung in his otherwise empty wardrobe: the black shirt with a red tartan collar.

“Ngk!”

Aziraphale was flushed, throat and cheeks red. The dark of the shirt made it even more obvious, underlying both the rosy and milky colours of Aziraphale’s skin. He stood there, awkward and lovely, not hiding anything, smooth chest, glimpse of perked nipples, round belly, soft member nestled into white curls, tapering legs. He tried to avoid looking at Crowley, but his blue eyes kept darting upwards despite himself. He was alternating between twisting his hands and running them on the soft fabric of Crowley’s shirt. Trying to gain comfort from it. Crowley hissed at the thought.

“Well, if you don’t want me using your shirt, don’t drool on my nightgown,” complained Aziraphale in a fit of pique.

Both of them knew that was a very poorly executed excuse. Worse even than the Bastille one. Aziraphale pretended to be angry to hide his nervousness and give himself composure. He wasn’t even doing anything seductive. Because he knew, and he knew Crowley knew, what the simple fact of _wearing_ that shirt was doing to Crowley.

The first time, he hadn’t known. But after being taken on the kitchen table; he couldn’t feign ignorance. This was the most daring he had ever been. Crowley licked his lips, unable to stop eyeing the angel. Could this count as the first step? Oh how Crowley wanted to answer “yes” to that question. But… it was still a temptation. A lovely blatant one. But still one. Crowley wanted Aziraphale to really make the first move.

Good thing Crowley was a master at repressing his desires. He swallowed and turned back to his tray, adding the hot cocoa in an angel cup. Having lost eye contact with the angel made things easier.

“Get back to bed, angel, you’ll get cold,” he advised gently.

Not that they could get sick, but they did feel the cold and heat, because humans tended to get suspicious if you didn’t react to weather like they did. Hence, just like breathing, both Crowley and Aziraphale had taken it upon themselves to deal with temperatures the human way.

Crowley was still busying himself with the food when he heard a snap. He half-turned to see what miracle Aziraphale could have possibly needed (a pair of slippers, maybe?) and felt his heart take a dive from his ribcage to the floor, splattering there and breaking into gory pieces.

Aziraphale had miracled a dressing gown. Aziraphale did not miracle clothes. It was fluffy and a soft blue and covered him from ankle to collar, he had closed it snugly around himself, not even the dip of his throat visible. Slippers had been added too, not leaving an ounce of skin visible. Aziraphale had armoured himself.

“Angel…”

“I… I will be… reading… yes, yes reading… in bed, dear.”

Aziraphale’s tone was shaky, his eyes shiny and his chin wobbly. Before he could think, Crowley was moving toward him. He had hurt him. He had hurt his angel. Aziraphale had already turned away, leaving the room. Crowley could reach for him, he was now a breath away, but hesitated. Aziraphale stopped just a step outside.

“Crowley?” he called, not turning.

“Yes?”

“Dearest, I… Are you… are you tired of me?”

His voice had cracked as he spoke and Aziraphale cleared his throat self-consciously. If Crowley’s heart hadn’t already been broken into pieces on the floor, the demon would have ripped it out and tore it to ribbons.

“I… I would understand,” continued the angel, still not facing him, “really… it… it would be fine, my dear. Anything you like, really, but… but I need to know, Crowley. You… you are allowed not to want me anymore or to… I don’t know… well… it’s ok, really. Just… please tell me, dearest? You… you… well… you don’t seem to want this anymore and… and… I… need to know, so I can… adapt… yes, that’s it, adapt…”

Crowley gently reached for Aziraphale, taking his shoulder and nudging him until he faced Crowley again. Unshed tears made his eyes shine even brighter than usual but blue eyes didn’t flee golden ones. Crowley’s plan had backfired in unforeseen consequences…

“Are you talking about sex, Aziraphale?”

“Well of course I am, you idiot,” testily replied Aziraphale, huffing in anger.

That made Crowley smile fondly and Aziraphale glared, crossing his arms on his chest and lifting his chin in defiance.

“You know, angel, you can say you miss it, even that you want it,”Crowley pointed out.

Not that Aziraphale refrained from saying he wanted it when they were making love, he was pretty vocal about it. But only once they were doing it. Crowley knew Aziraphale would catch his meaning. And he did, averting his eyes and scrunching up his nose.

“That wouldn’t be proper, now would it?” he replied grumpily.

“How so? Do tell,” pushed Crowley.

It was a load of bullshit and they both knew it. Well, Crowley knew it, Aziraphale was still engulfed in Heaven’s nasty unhealthy rhetoric. And not ready to admit it.

“Well, maybe you don’t want it anymore? I wouldn’t want to… well… impose on you.”

“Really? I’m pretty sure you know the effect you have on me, Aziraphale.”

That made Aziraphale glow and smile for a moment before he remembered he was put out and went right back to looking offended. Crowley was so besotted.

“I didn’t want to put you in a difficult situation. Make you uncomfortable.”

Crowley lifted an eyebrow, a shit-eating grin slowly stretching on his features. Oh he knew that tone, and he could read behind the lines. Aziraphale had just rebuked Crowley, telling the demon he had put the angel into a difficult uncomfortable situation. By forcing Aziraphale to ask for what Crowley knew the angel didn’t want to ask for. His angel was such a bastard. 

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, dragging him forward, close, a sly grin on his face, a twinkle in his eyes. Aziraphale went pliantly.

“Can you doubt how much I desire you? Maybe I’m the one wondering if I’m pushing you too far, asking too much. After all, angel, you never initiated…”

“I underdressed for you! Read Oscar Wilde where you could see! I even wore your shirt!” vehemently protested Aziraphale, appalled and indignant.

Crowley grinned like the snake that had just swallowed the cute mouse.

“Yes, I did notice you _tempting_ me,” he chortled.

“Oh! You fiend!” griped Aziraphale in aggravation, “how dare you. I do not tempt. I’m an angel,” he protested haughtily.

Too bad Crowley didn’t have his sunglasses, because he would have lowered them to give that _look_ to Aziraphale. The one that called bullshit. During the Arrangement, Aziraphale had made many successful temptations. Aziraphale grumbled and wriggled under his gaze.

“It was an invitation,” he conceded.

Crowley chuckled.

“Invitations. Plural,” mumbled Aziraphale before adding softly and shyly, “That you didn’t take…”

How could Crowley have failed to see Aziraphale would take that as rejection? The first few times hadn’t meant anything, hadn’t deterred him. But… it had been two months now. Crowley was an idiot. Aziraphale knew Crowley would have had no qualms about telling him he was going through a no-sex phase. So he had kept tempting to get Crowley to react… and seeing him not doing so and not telling him anything? Well… Aziraphale was used to being unwanted by others. Crowley had hurt him. 

“Aziraphale, angel…” he cooed.

With adoration, he cupped his cheeks, tenderly rubbing them with his thumbs, he kissed his eyelids, his temple, his nose, the corner of his lips.

“Angel, it’s been utmost torture to resist you.”

Blue eyes full of unshed tears caught his, wobbly chin valiantly kept in check under Crowley’s fingers. Crowley nosed at his face, affectionate.

“Then why?” asked Aziraphale, his voice small.

If Crowley had been one of his plants, he would have earned a one way trip to the shredder. As it was, he had to fix this mess.

“Because I wanted you to make the first move, to be able to express your need, to trust me with it.”

Understanding dawned on Aziraphale and he bit his lips. The angel caught Crowley’s wrists, caressing them before lowering their hands and kissing the demon’s palm. Then he took the last step to lean on Crowley and rested his head on his shoulder, snuggling into his hold.

“But you were always fluent in reading me… I thought… I thought inviting you was enough…”

“Then it will be,” assured Crowley. 

He was done pushing the angel. If Aziraphale needed Crowley to be the one making the first move, then so be it, being tempted was enough to satisfy Crowley. He rather loved it. And they needed to learn to talk to each other. There were no forbidden subjects now, they weren’t in danger.

Carefully Crowley’s hands slithered down Aziraphale’s flanks, feeling that plump body underneath the soft cotton of the dressing gown. The angel sighed and snuggled more against Crowley, resting his head on his shoulder, his hands lazily crossed behind Crowley’s back, he let him carry his weight. When slender fingers tentatively grabbed an angelic ass, Aziraphale hummed.

“Can I?” asked Crowley, his voice muffled in Aziraphale’s curls.

As an answer, Aziraphale reached for the belt holding his gown and undid it. With the back of one hand, the other staying on that plentiful bottom, Crowley gently trailed down the lapels, parting them to reveal that Aziraphale was completely naked underneath.

“Ngk.”

Trembling after so long without touching his angel, Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s hip, feeling that giving flesh shiver. It was all it took for the tension coursing through them both to release in a flurry of movements. Suddenly, they were devouring each other, teeth clashing in the hurry to kiss, to taste, to claim. No time for hickeys but enough for possessive bites. Hands roamed free, pulling at clothes without managing to get them off. Soon Aziraphale was pushed against a wall, Crowley hoisting one of the angel’s legs up, his fingers buried in that thick thigh, and his front pressed to Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale was tugging on Crowley’s pyjama shirt, trying to free the buttons without bothering to undo them. Frustrated, he snapped his fingers, getting Crowley naked. Crowley swore and growled, aroused beyond words at Aziraphale’s desperation. He crowded him further against the wall, undulating between his legs, biting, licking and kissing his offered throat.

Crowley could feel manicured nails scratching on his back, on his ass, on his sides, pulling him close always. His corporation would bear marks. Fuck, he had missed that so much. He needed to pour all his love on Aziraphale, and the angel needed to receive it. They were made for each other.

The gown was off Aziraphale but still trapped behind him, Crowley unable to let it pool to the floor because that would mean removing himself from the angel, and he couldn’t do that for the life of him.

“Hnnn,” moaned Crowley.

Thick and dexterous fingers had grabbed between Crowley’s legs, stroking him fully erect and Aziraphale was now fumbling to lift himself up and get Crowley at his entrance.

“Angel,” gasped Crowley, “no, angel, I need to prepare you.”

He was trying to still Aziraphale’s erratic movements but failing miserably as he was himself rather incoherent… especially with his angel manhandling him…

“I want you inside me, now,” demanded Aziraphale. 

“Fuck… Aziraphale…” whined Crowley.

Light-headed with desire and pleasure, Crowley slid his arms under Aziraphale’s thighs, grabbing his hips and hoisting him up. The angel gasped and locked his legs around Crowley’s waist, forcing him closer and keening in want. Aziraphale secured around him and against the wall, Crowley braced himself one-handed on the wall, snapping his finger lubed and gently prodding at Aziraphale’s entrance.

“Crowley, now,” begged Aziraphale.

But in this position he was powerless to hurry Crowley and there was no way in Heaven or Hell that Crowley was not preparing his angel. It had been far too long.

“No,” denied Crowley, “it’ll hurt.”

“I don’t care!” grouchily protested Aziraphale.

“But I do.”

Aziraphale hid his face in Crowley’s hair, resigned, and sobbed as Crowley breached him with one slick finger, working him open slowly and carefully. The devouring passion had left Crowley just as suddenly as it had overcome him, replaced with unfathomable longing. Passion was what Aziraphale wanted, but not what he needed. He had felt rejected, unworthy, small and pathetic, just like Heaven always made him feel. Crowley was going to show him how loved, desired, cherished, precious he was. And by doing so, Crowley would revel in being kind, loving, gentle, in bringing joy and pleasure to someone else. Everything that Hell told him he couldn’t be and shouldn’t be.

“Crowley, Crowley, Crowley,” chanted Aziraphale.

The angel was rutting against him, his member trapped between Crowley’s flat stomach and his own ample one, getting delicious friction but just not enough. His moves also made him clench and sink lower on Crowley’s fingers, two now.

With the help of a miracle, Crowley settled Aziraphale more around him and off the wall, not stopping his administrations as his angel incoherently whined. Steadily he made his way to the bedroom, enjoying how Aziraphale was now gripping his shoulder, one hand clinging to his hair, pulling and stroking.

“Please… I need more, please, dearest,” babbled Aziraphale.

“Yes, angel, anything you want.”

“You, you, you, always.”

Crowley lowered him on the bed, kissing him slowly, taking his time to taste every crevice of his mouth. Aziraphale sighed in pleasure, happy to have Crowley’s weight on him, pressing him to the mattress, rocking against his entrance languidly and promising so much more. Searching haphazardly around, Crowley grabbed a cushion and placed it under his angel’s bottom.

Panting in exertion, Crowley sat on his heels and watched as Aziraphale wriggled in impatience. So beautiful, his unashamed yearning angel, flushed in pleasure and want, offered-up and demanding. Crowley laughed as Aziraphale dragged his nails on his flanks then grabbed Crowley’s ass, dragging him forward in a clear order.

Caressing Aziraphale’s quivering thighs, Crowley positioned himself at the twitching entrance, enjoying the wanton gasp that elicited from his angel. Leisurely, he prodded then pushed inside, feeling the muscles part for him. As his tip entered Aziraphale, the latter threw his head back with a cry of bliss. Inch by inch Crowley sunk inside, encouraged by his angel’s moans, his hands and legs pulling him closer, his back arching to get Crowley deeper. With a last push of his hips, Crowley was fully sheathed.

Aziraphale writhed underneath him, arching with a cry and clenching around Crowley as he orgasmed, coming undone from Crowley entering him. Impossibly pleased and besotted, Crowley rocked gently, letting the angel ride his release until he was a mess of incoherent whines, pliant and satiated. Of course, knowing Aziraphale, Crowley didn’t even think of pulling out.

“You good?” he asked, caressing his angel’s feverish skin in wonder.

“Don’t you dare move.”

Crowley chuckled adoringly.

“Not a chance.”

“I intend for you to come inside me, then take me again. In fact, I don’t believe we’ll leave this bed until I’ve finished being angry with you.”

It still amazed Crowley to realize his angel could make him fall even more in love. How he loved to dote on him, to answer his every whim. And how he delighted in indulging Aziraphale’s bastardly side. 

“Oh, and I know you can hold a grudge,” teased Crowley.

“My point exactly. Now move.”

Crowley stilled Aziraphale before he could rock himself on him, but didn’t manage to prevent him from wriggling and whimpering as a result.

“You’re too sensitive right now,” admonished Crowley.

“I don’t care,” pouted his angel.

Even if Crowley fully intended to have some breaks in their coupling, maybe a week, to recreate this intensity again, he didn’t want to ever see Aziraphale feeling so bad again, or this desperate. Aziraphale seemed to read that in his expression, and reached for him, Crowley obediently lowering so his angel could sink his fingers into his hair and cup his cheek.

“It won’t hurt me, dearest,” assured Aziraphale.

So overstimulation was another thing Crowley had to add to his growing list of kinks he would have to try with his angel. What they had still seemed so fragile Crowley didn’t want to tread into such territory just yet. He couldn’t risk going too fast. But he kept them in mind and looked forward to them. He licked his lips and saw in the shudder that coursed through Aziraphale that his hunger had shown.

“Let me enjoy you like that a little longer,” requested Crowley.

“Lie on me, then? I want to feel your skin.”

They squirmed and fumbled until they found a position that kept Crowley buried inside Aziraphale yet fully pressed against him while still comfortable for the both of them.

“Don’t you want to come, dearest?” asked Aziraphale, petting Crowley’s hair and nape.

“Later.”

As Aziraphale had predicted, they didn’t leave the bed (mostly, there were snack breaks, as well as poetry breaks, some sleep too) until morning… one day later. And when they did it was only because it was Monday and Aziraphale had promised Dalorian he’d be there, he was supposed to accompany some people into the restricted areas. If they were late, it was of course, Crowley’s fault, not at all the angel licking orange juice from his fingers while maintaining eye contact with Crowley who had peeled said orange just for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last :) 
> 
> Please, do take the time to tell me what you enjoyed in the chapter ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter.  
> Thank you so much to those who took the time to review, especially those who reviewed each chapters. Thank you, really.  
> Thank you to those who left kudos too :)

“Oh, that was indeed very mean, Warlock dear. What an awful little boy. Do you want me to pass you to Nanny so she can advise you?”

Crowley was nosing around the back room. Nothing had truly changed here, not that Aziraphale had made many changes to his part of the library, apart from the entrance and moving furniture around to make it even less accessible - after all, the old bookshop had contained most of the restricted areas. Still, some stuff had had to be relocated, and Crowley still managed to find things he had never seen before. His angel was a hoarder.

When he heard that he might be needed, he motioned with one hand for the angel to bring him the phone. It was the rotary one, Aziraphale playing with the cord, but it _would_ be long enough to reach Crowley and let him roam free.

“You prefer for me to advise you?” continued Aziraphale “... Ah, bodily harm isn’t an option, I see. Well, yes, dear boy, maybe I will be fitter to counsel you for a bout of oral jousting.”

Crowley scoffed and went right back to his exploration. Aziraphale didn’t mind, he had always allowed Crowley to poke and explore, letting him see every nook and cranny of the nest he had made for himself. The only thing Aziraphale had kept from him were his feelings, because it had been dangerous. And he hadn’t been very good at it.

That’s why the demon had no qualms about taking a biscuit tin, much like the sort grandmas would store sewing supplies in, making generations of kids cry when they discovered that no treats were inside. But Aziraphale‘s sewing kit was elsewhere, furthermore he had a tailor for that kind of stuff, so what could he possibly stock there? Things for repairing books? No, all those supplies had their own spot.

“No, Warlock dear, you don’t want him to know he got to you. You have to make him think the rain of his insults doesn’t graze the umbrella of your indifference,” Aziraphale was saying.

Gingerly, with as much glee as a kid thinking he was going to find cookies in the tin, Crowley prised open the lid and peered inside. Then he blinked in surprise. He hadn’t known what to expect but it hadn’t been this. Were those tickets or leaflets? From shows and museums and such. Some were very old.

Crowley settled on the floor with the box cradled in his arms and set about pulling everything out and ordering it by date in half-circles in front of him. Funny, he remembered some of those. Most of them. All of them.

“Oh. You found that,” came Aziraphale’s voice from behind him.

Time had flown by while Crowley was reminiscing. The angel had hung up with Warlock and come to see what had him so engrossed and calm. Blue eyes looked at him sheepishly, as if Aziraphale was the one caught with his hands in the cookie jar.

“You only kept the ones from when I was with you,” observed Crowley.

Aziraphale sat next to him, leaning on his side and pillowing his head on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley wrapped one arm around Aziraphale’s waist, resting his hand on that soft stomach.

“I didn’t need to remember the other ones.”

“Ngk.”

Taking his time, Aziraphale helped Crowley take out all the tickets and leaflets and they remembered together. Crowley basked in the knowledge that Aziraphale had treasured their time together, that, as he had figured, it was only the danger that kept them apart, made Aziraphale push him away. He had known, of course. But it was nice to have proof. 

“Ugh, you kept that one too?” complained Crowley.

It had been, like many others, a secret rendezvous for the Arrangement. They had talked about plans for half an hour tops and then relished being together. But it had ended with a fight. It had been Crowley’s fault. He had seen an opportunity for mischief, had taken it… and it had snowballed from there to epic proportions, hurt people Aziraphale was fond of. The angel had gotten on his high horse and they had parted ways angry with each other. It had been their first fight. 

“Yes. It was still part of our story.”

And it seemed to hold a particular meaning for Aziraphale. It held one for Crowley, truth be told. Because they had fought, and it had been Crowley’s fault… and Aziraphale had forgiven him. All Crowley had had to do was apologize. That had been a first too, being forgiven.

“Furthermore, you brought me delicious food in apology.”

Now, Crowley could guess that had been important to Aziraphale too. Someone apologizing to him. Had The angel been scared to never see him again? Or maybe his feelings hadn’t been there yet. Maybe he had guessed Crowley would come back to him, but not with an apology.

“And a book,” added Aziraphale.

Crowley pushed his glasses up his nose and Aziraphale smirked knowingly.

“You knew about the book?”

“Oh dear, the poor lad that brought it to me was terrified. The rest of his books were all junk, but this one was a masterpiece and he wasn’t very discreet in pushing it into my hands.”

Not wanting to reminisce about the time he wasn't as smooth as he would have liked, Crowley dug into the tin again and came out with a very familiar ticket from a place he loved. 

“Is that a ticket from the cartoon cinema? But we never went there together.”

Aziraphale’s hands flew to adjust his bowtie. Good thing the angel didn’t play poker.

“Er… well… I tried to see what the appeal was. Didn’t understand it, to be honest, but well it’s something you like.”

It was nice of him. Strange that it would fluster the angel so much. And it couldn’t be that he was ill-at-ease with telling Crowley he didn’t like something Crowley did, Fuck knew he had no qualms over that. As Crowley searched for the cartoon Aziraphale had gone to, he saw the date.

“Hey, funny, that was the date it was supposed to close for good.”

Crowley remembered that well. Learning that old cartoon cinema had gone bankrupt and would disappear had disappointed him greatly. He had slept two days because of it, not wanting to see it die. Only to wake up and see that it was still there; some fans had come together and saved it.

“Oh, how strange indeed.”

“Wait.”

“Look, another hamlet!” Aziraphale cheerfully pointed out.

Plucking the ticket out of Aziraphale’s fingers, Crowley stared at him through his shades. The angel fidgeted. Crowley’s suspicions grew. “You saved it.” (1)

Aziraphale sighed, put out at being found out.

“You didn’t tell me,” said Crowley, thinking aloud.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” haughtily replied Aziraphale.

Crowley rolled his eyes and mimicked him before kissing him. They went back to looking over the contents of the tin. Crowley was drinking in Aziraphale’s joyfulness, the way he exclaimed when a ticket reminded him of a particular event (all of them, really, Aziraphale was cheer incarnate) and how he launched into explaining the memory, even though Crowley had been there. Crowley felt loved, through the ages. Not to mention the tickets were messily arranged and worn around the edges, which meant Aziraphale opened this tin and recollected on his own. 

“Angel?”

“Yes, dearest?”

“When did you fall in love with me?”

Aziraphale hummed, furrowing his brows in that way he had when he was raking his brain.

“That is a hard one, my dear… I know when I realized I was in love with you, but I believe the falling was a slow process, unseen, subtly woven into our friendship.”

Crowley hummed at that. It made sense. Especially since the angel wouldn’t have been able to imagine the mere possibility of his ability to love in this way, especially a demon. 

“When did you realize, then?” asked Crowley.

“Isn’t that obvious? You have the memento in your home.”

“Our home,” corrected Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes wrinkled at the corners as he smiled at him before giving him a peck on the lips. Then the angel reached for the sunglasses, taking hold of them but not removing them until he was sure Crowley allowed it.

“It was when you gave me the books you had saved from the bomb you dropped on those Nazis.”

“Not me dashingly entering a church to save you?” teased Crowley.

“Oh that was part of the package, dear, but no. It was that thoughtless kindness that showed you truly cared, that you knew me better than I do myself.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his and caressed it with his lips. 

“And you?” inquired Aziraphale.

“Oh, I was smitten with you from the start.”

Aziraphale pursued his lips, not believing him. Crowley grinned, kissing those doubtful wrinkles away.

“Truly. You let a demon approach you, then talked to me, then told me you gave your sword away to people banished by God Herself! Then you shielded me with your wing…”

Now that he thought about it, kindness was a key component of their relationship. Kindness that was despised by both sides. The core of _their_ side. Even if Crowley would never admit it aloud.

“Well then, I was infatuated with you from the start too! A demon reassuring an angel!” argued Aziraphale.

“You do realize I was being sarcastic at the time, right?”

“No, I did not. And it meant the world to me. You didn’t judge, you comforted me. That helped me decide to put my trust in you.”

Crowley blushed and pretended he wasn’t, going back to poking at/through the contents of the tin. Aziraphale settled against him again, walking them both down memory lane.

## ***

Crowley gave a loving pat to his car before leaving it in the inconvenient place he usually parked it in. His mood was splendid; he’d had a nice drive and his mischief went without a hitch. And he had a plan for a great new scheme involving messing with canteen food that would need, and please, Aziraphale. Tonight the angel was cooking for them and Crowley couldn’t wait to get all artsy on the plate and then honour the meal, then sleep curled into his angel for digestion.

That devilish good mood vanished the moment he set foot in the flat. There was no cooking odour, no aroma of a delicious dinner to come. There was no light on. All Crowley was met with were the grey lifeless walls and very still plants.

He knew Aziraphale was home. Crowley had sent him a text to say he was going to be slightly late. Aziraphale had answered that he would start cooking to be ready for when Crowley arrived. So… what happened? Gingerly, Crowley touched the bond bracelet and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as an answering warmth greeted him.

Still, Crowley slithered prudently through the corridor toward the kitchen, but froze at the plant room. In the setting sun stood the angel, immobile, in the middle of the plants. At his feet, an empty pot.

Oh shit. Crowley had terminated one of them yesterday. Had left the pot as a threat to the others. Had forgotten to retrieve it later. Aziraphale was wearing his apron, he had come to get an ingredient and…

“Angel?”

Aziraphale turned to him and Crowley winced as he saw how composed he was, only his eyes, shiny, betrayed him.

“Oh goodness, I didn’t see the time. Well, better have a wiggle on if we want to eat at a decent time!” he cheerfully said.

Without picking up the ingredient he needed, the angel fled the scene. Crowley growled internally. This was his hobby, his private place. Aziraphale had no right to make him feel guilty! Damn it all! Crowley was a demon, he could discipline his fucking plants!

Strangely, it would have been easier if Aziraphale had confronted him. Crowley couldn’t stand the idea that the angel was running from him, feared talking to him.

“If you have ssssomething to ssssay, sssssay it,” he hissed.

Aziraphale had barely passed the door. He turned to Crowley with wide eyes that he fought not to blink, so as to not let his emotion spill out.

“W… what? N…no… I… everything’s fine.”

Aziraphale flashed him a strained smile.

Lying. Aziraphale was a liar. But he seldom lied to Crowley. Because he didn’t need to. More than the angel poking his nose in what wasn’t his business, that drove Crowley up the wall. Good thing he had kept the shades on. Aziraphale fidgeted under his gaze, removed his apron, folded it. Usually Crowley would gently coax the truth from his angel, but… this was a touchy subject. Crowley didn’t even know why. Or rather, he knew too well.

“It’s nothing really, dearest. I know you don’t like me being here without you. I only needed an ingredient for my dish. I went in without thinking. Nothing to ponder about.”

He was babbling, what better way to hide the truth than drown it in a sea of words. But Crowley would have none of that. Aziraphale was distraught, that much was certain. Crowley hated feeling like Aziraphale didn’t accept his demonic nature, but he hated seeing the angel distressed even more.

“Aziraphale,” he sighed.

Aziraphale lowered his gaze, smoothing the apron in his hands like he wished to do the same for their conversation.

“You killed one of them,” he finally said.

“Yesss,” replied Crowley, unrepentant.

“Well, that’s it. You know how I feel about that,” snapped Aziraphale.

That was true. And they were going to fight because of it. Again. Until now, they had put a Band-Aid on it; the scab had started to form, untwined with the gauze, now was the time to rip it off and see if the wound would reopen or if it was healed enough to withstand it. Crowley knew the answer, the damn thing was still bleeding.

“I’m a demon,” Crowley pointedly reminded him.

Aziraphale unfolded the apron and hooked it at the door. Crowley wondered why he suddenly needed to have his hands free. In defence? If Crowley was ready to uncoil and strike in warning, he would never bite Aziraphale. He would rather bite himself than the angel.

“And I love you because of it, not despite it,” primly affirmed Aziraphale.

“I know, and… wait? What?” That had taken Crowley by surprise.

“I love you because you’re a demon, dearest. You are… so free? So unapologetic, proud, rude, self-assured, cocky even, you think outside the box and you keep questioning everything! You are so… yourself!”

Crowley felt himself simultaneously blush, choke and preen. The angel was gushing about him in the way he was prone to, all prim and proper, his hands moving in the air to punctuate his words.

“Sssstop it,” hissed Crowley, “this has nothing to do with my plants.”

Aziraphale gave him a disapproving look.

“My point is, dear, that I wouldn’t be as… as… it’s not put out… nor angry, that’s too strong a word…”

“Annoyed?” prompted Crowley.

“No, too close to anger… as saddened? Yes, well, you get my point, so I wouldn’t be whatever that word is, if you were an ass to the myosotis. I would just tut and let you play the mean bully.”

Vaguely, Crowley wondered if he had a hallucinogenic plant that he didn’t know of. Because what the hell was the forget-me-not doing in this conversation? And for Fuck’s sake, why would Aziraphale, who was so adamant about Crowley not yelling and killing his plants, why would the angel want him to be nasty to his gift?

“What?” he very eloquently said.

It did convey exactly his thoughts about the whole thing. Might need to tag “the fuck” after, to be more accurate.

“The myosotis.”

“Yes.”

“You treat it differently.”

“It’s a gift from you!”

For a second Aziraphale’s stern expression turned soft, before he seemed to remember he was arguing with Crowley and scolded his features again. 

“It’s a plant. And you treat the plant that protected it differently too! And the Angel Wings!” 

“They’re all linked to you!” screamed Crowley, angry and frustrated.

Then he realized what he had said, crossed his arms on his chest and looked everywhere but at the angel. At his plants, very very still plants. Like children witnessing their parents fighting and not moving in fear of attracting attention. The one directly under Crowley’s shielded eyes started shaking and Crowley smiled in satisfaction.

“Yes! So it’s not about the plants deserving punishment!”

Crowley snorted at that.

“Of course they do. They disappointed me! They had everything they needed and still failed! They deserve it.”

“No, they don’t.”

“They’re rejects,” insisted Crowley.

Aziraphale eyes filled with unshed tears again and Crowley wanted to roll his eyes and lift his arms to the Heavens… no, lower them to Hell… no… fuck it, but he also craved holding his angel and promising him that he wasn’t a reject, that he was perfect in being imperfect.

“Don’t project, angel, this has nothing to do with you,” said Crowley, softer. 

That was the tricky part with this whole mess. The plants were Crowley’s more demonic side, all the pent up aggressiveness and negativity he could safely unload on them. A way to deal with his feelings when they got too much. What feelings exactly, Crowley didn’t want to look too closely at that question, and Aziraphale was picking the lock on Pandora’s box.

“The myosotis, the Angel Wings and the protector should be treated the same, then,” argued Aziraphale, bull-headed.

“No, those have something to do with you.”

“That’s my point! You’re kind to the myosotis and the Angel Wings because they represent me. You’re tolerant with the protector plant because it took care of the myosotis, but you are infernal with the others!”

“I’m a demon, I’m supposed to be infernal!”

“Don’t interrupt me, dear. The others, they represent you!”

A fly could have been heard buzzing. But it wouldn’t have dared to. Aziraphale, on the other hand, had no survival instinct when it came to Crowley. He barged on. 

“You are doing to them what was done to you. It’s Heaven and Hell mixed up in being terrible. You ask for the near-impossible and threaten to obtain it, then you kill, or should I say cast out?... Or terrorize when they don’t meet your demands!”

“At least I tell them _why_ they are being cast out!” griped Crowley.

The sadness in Aziraphale’s eyes was unbearable. This was how Crowley dealt with all that was fucked-up about him! Aziraphale couldn’t ask him not to! This was worse than not accepting him as a demon. Crowley crossed his arms, hissing under his breath, sulking.

“Crowley…” 

“I’m a demon, that’s what I do! Would you rather I do it to humans?”

Aziraphale puffed up like a bird in winter, or like that funny fish that did when in danger.

“You wouldn’t,” assured the angel sternly.

Evidently, Aziraphale wasn’t going to be sidetracked by Crowley’s bait. Damn him. No, never. Fuck him then. Oh yeah, that would shut him up nicely. Aziraphale continued talking:

“Crowley, you showed me that being a demon doesn’t mean being vile. Just like being an angel is not being blindly obedient. And what are demons, really? They are rebels, and you fit that definition to the letter, too rebellious even for Hell!”

“You’re reading too much into my way of dealing with my plants.”

Denial. If Crowley didn’t admit it, it didn’t exist.

“I am not. And you know it.”

Sometimes Aziraphale truly was insufferable. And maybe it should worry Crowley just how much he loved him for it.

“Drop it.”

It was a command. It was a plea. But the thing with Aziraphale? It was hard to make him budge most of the time, but once he really got going? Oh, he was an unstoppable force to be reckoned with. Like now. Crowley could see on his face, so earnest and hopeful and loving, that he was a dog with a bone. Especially since the angel acted in the belief that he was helping Crowley.

“I’m not asking you to change, dearest. It’s just like you did with me, with the bookshop, the singing, sleeping… I’m adapting, isn’t it what you do? You follow the humans’ fast pace all the time, you evolve and change and it’s amazing…”

Crowley groaned. The angel was playing dirty. Slowly, as if not to spook Crowley (as if Crowley could be spooked by his angel), Aziraphale made his way to him and reached for his glasses. His fingers hovered there until Crowley gave a curt nod, allowing the angel to strip him of his shield. To reveal the demon underneath, he could bet his eyes were all yellow, no trace of white.

“Crowley, dearest. You didn’t deserve to be terrorized by Hell.”

Gently, Crowley’s cheeks were cupped in thick warm hands, thumbs rubbing soothingly on his skin.

“And you were no failure, no reject, just rebellious.”

Suddenly Crowley knew why Aziraphale had hung the apron, had freed his hands, it was to catch Crowley as he fell. Crowley let his body lean forward, get cushioned by Aziraphale’s plush, soft body.

“It was no fault of yours if you Fell. You didn’t _deserve_ it.”

“Angel!” gasped Crowley.

Fear had gripped him. This was blasphemy! Aziraphale’s hold on him grew tighter, preventing him from jerking away in panic.

“You were just different, Crowley. Too different for Heaven, that’s why you couldn’t stay there anymore.”

Crowley whined. Aziraphale wasn’t rejecting or questioning God’s decision, he was framing it in another way. It was so much like his angel and his love of excuses.

“I can’t bear to see you with your plants because I see that you do unto them what was done unto you and believe that they, and so you, deserved it. I don’t wish to change you, dearest. Nor am I put off by you being a demon.”

Crowley curled around Aziraphale, hiding his face in the crook of his neck, smelling his intoxicating scent. Aziraphale continued to talk, unrelenting.

“Just like the mint in the living room doesn’t want to go back here, you don’t wish to go back to Heaven, I understand it. And the protector plant? My dear, if it is allowed to breathe, then so are you. You’re always taking such good care of me, dearest.”

“Sssshut up,” hissed Crowley.

“My wily old serpent,” crooned Aziraphale, “my demon.”

And for once “demon” sounded just as loving as “angel” did in Crowley’s mouth.

“Ssstop.”

“I just want you to be kinder to yourself,” pleaded Aziraphale.

This was too much for Crowley, he was too raw. And usually when he had too many feelings he didn’t want to deal with, and that terrorizing his plants wouldn’t alleviate, he went to sleep them off. But he couldn’t do that, it would hurt Aziraphale. So he did the next best thing, he kissed Aziraphale, effectively shutting him up. It was a desperate kiss, full of longing (always, always, he had longed for Aziraphale for millennia) but also of gratitude for understanding him, loving him as he was, wanting the best for him and acting upon it despite Crowley’s resistance.

“So, angel, you love me being a demon?” teased Crowley.

His hand travelled from the angel’s backside to his nape, to the white curls nestled there. Crowley gripped them and pulled Aziraphale’s head back, baring his throat and jaw. At the same time he slotted his leg between the angel’s, grinding.

Aziraphale’s breath hitched, blue eyes getting darker. He wet his lips and parted them as if to talk, but couldn’t because Crowley was kissing him again. Hungry, dominant, pressing the angel to him and swallowing his moans.

Thick fingers crept up Crowley’s back, where they had been curled after the first kiss, to reach red hair but were caught before reaching their destination. Crowley held both Aziraphale’s wrists, gathering them behind his back with one hand. Hisother hand lifted Aziraphale’s chin, Crowley tremendously enjoying the puzzled expression on his angel’s face, as well as the anticipation, the slight hope that one of his darkest fantasies, that Aziraphale had hinted at but never voiced, might take life.

“Crowley, here? In front of the plants?”

A bony finger had come to rest on plump lips. Crowley smirked as a tongue darted on his flesh in clear defiance. They had never christened this room. Time to change that.

“Don’t make me gag you, angel,” threatened Crowley.

He compensated for his words with a gentle caress from the back of his hand on that plush rosy cheek. Aziraphale gave a nod, and the tension in his body relaxed. Crowley felt a surge of… was that power? Yes, maybe, he felt powerful for sure, but that wasn’t it. No, Crowley felt blessed (shut it, Hell) to be this trusted. Aziraphale surrendered to him, wholly, blindly, with the utter belief Crowley wouldn’t do anything that would displease him.

“Good,” congratulated Crowley, his voice catching just a tad.

Aziraphale glowed softly under the approval. If Crowley hada sort of praise kink, the angel shared a similar trait; he needed recognition, craved it, for Heaven had never given it to him, or only mockingly.

“I would hate to gag you; I love hearing you,” said Crowley.

His words were met with a shudder and a sweet little pleased gasp. Crowley would never gag his angel, never, his voice had been suppressed far too often. This wasn’t what he was trying to accomplish.

“The sounds you make, angel,” he complimented.

A whine, frustrated. Crowley chuckled, nipping Aziraphale’s jaw, kissing his cheek, temple and brow.

“You can call my name, angel, you can talk too. But you are not to speak of the plants right now.”

There was a wriggle, a pout then a nod. Crowley shifted his leg, still between Aziraphale’s, where a tent was slowly forming. The angel choked, gulping and making his Adam’s apple bob. Crowley bit it. He had wanted to for ages but hadn’t dared, now it seemed fitting as he was to use his knowledge of the angel to debauch him.

Still holding Aziraphale’s wrists behind his back, he used his free hand to grab a plump thigh and hoisted it up, forcing the angel to straddle his leg even more, pressing his trapped flesh more fully on Crowley’s bony leg. Aziraphale ended up getting on tiptoes, panting, leaning against Crowley, his forehead on the demon’s shoulder.

“If you want me to wait or to stop, you’ll call me Anthony, is that clear?”

A nod.

“Say it.”

“It’s clear.”

His voice was tight. Crowley groaned, briefly biting his lip, Aziraphale had already slipped into their game with an ease that ought to scare Crowley. Instead, he revelled in it, treasured it.

“Say my name,” he requested.

“Crowley…”

It dripped with desire. Crowley shook himself.

“The other one, angel,” he corrected.

“But I don’t want to stop,” complained Aziraphale.

Crowley chuckled and kissed the top of his angel’s head. His eager, demanding angel.

“I know, angel, but I need to make the rules crystal clear.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. Anthony.”

“Good.”

Crowley nudged his leg up and Aziraphale moaned, shaking as he was even more on tiptoes for a few seconds. Then Crowley gripped the angel’s wrists a little tighter before freeing them. He hummed his approval as Aziraphale stayed put.

Smoothly, Crowley undid his scarf. (If he had to tug and fight the knot a little, no one had to know.) Sliding it free from his neck, he took one strong wrist and tied an end to it. Aziraphale’s breath hitched and Crowley felt the bulge pressed on his leg grow. But a physical state wasn’t a sign of mental willingness.

“Good?” he checked.

A nod. Crowley tangled his fingers in Aziraphale’s curls and threw his head back, looking into his dilated blue eyes.

“What are you supposed to say if it’s not?”

“Anthony.”

“Very good, angel.”

Aziraphale half-closed his eyes, his lips puckering just slightly, and Crowley obliged, kissing him deep and slow. As he left him breathless, he tugged gently with his teeth on the lower lip before sweeping his tongue on it as it retreated.

A snap and a gym mat appeared, keeping them from the hard floor. His angel had to be comfortable.

“Hold on to me.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s neck and back, and threw one of his legs around the demon’s waist, yelping as the second one was lifted up. Crowley knelt and lowered his angel, lying him on his back, arms stretched above his head. Ignoring the whine of protestation, Crowley unwrapped Aziraphale’s legs from his waist.

Kissing his angel’s nose on the way, Crowley checked the knot at his wrist. Not too tight nor too loose, it wouldn’t tighten either, if Aziraphale struggled. And struggle in bliss he would. Under his fingers, the scarf lengthened, so he could loop it behind one of the pillars and tie Aziraphale’s other hand. The plants on this particular pillar were none other than the Forget-me-not and the Protector.

Satisfied with his work, Crowley grabbed his angel’s flanks and dragged him forwards, so that his arms would be taut, just shy from uncomfortable. Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s chin with a knuckle and the angel squirmed a bit, testing his bonds. Aziraphale was flushed, his eyes still darkened, lips parted and wet.

“Good?”

“Yes. But how will you undress me now? Because I wouldn’t want my waistcoat to be…”

Crowley shushed him gently with a finger. His angel would never change. Not that he wanted him to. But his mind was less in the game, and that wouldn’t do. The purpose was to stop him from thinking.

“You know I wouldn’t damage it. I’m in control here, so trust me.”

“I do. I wouldn’t let just anyone tie me up!”

“Oh yeah? I remember France…”

“That’s not the same!” cried Aziraphale, outraged.

Crowley laughed, grinning in mirth before turning it into a more predatory one. Aziraphale’s pout disappeared under Crowley’s lips. The demon straddled his angel, making sure to sit right on top of Aziraphale’s member, still trapped in layers of clothes. A keen escaped the angel and he tried to reach for Crowley, whining again when he couldn’t. Crowley smirked and began to toy with Aziraphale’s bowtie.

He hated the unfashionable thing, but… well, it did feel like he got to unwrap a present each time he undid the bow. And boy, was the angel’s body wrapped in layers, cushioned. As he was by his plump frame. As much as it was his way to be less threatening for humanity, to hide the sword he was, it was also a way to distance himself, to protect himself from all the hurt inflicted upon him.

Crowley pulled the bowtie free, letting the white collar open slightly, revealing a hint of creamy skin. He hummed pensively, then trailed a teasing finger from the dip of the throat to the hem of the pants, the pressure just enough to be felt but not mark. The buttons obediently undid themselves on his way. He pushed open the garments and sank his hands into them, he firmly mapped that pliant flesh, because it was his. The flanks, the back, the hips, the jiggling belly, the soft chest, the firm shoulders and the delicious neck. He pushed the fabric out of his way, not minding when it wouldn’t go further and stopped him.

Aziraphale was panting, bucking gently underneath him to get more sensation, but his bonds and Crowley’s weight restrained him efficiently. At last, Crowley rested his fingers around a pert nipple, let his thumb graze it. Aziraphale arched, and gasped as it put a strain on his arms. Crowley circled gently, rubbing here and there. Crowley lowered himself and took a nipple into his mouth, just an open mouth kiss, and stayed there, unmoving. Then he closed his lips around it and pulled, gave a flick of the tongue, kissed again, licked, nipped. Aziraphale hummed low in his throat.

With a last lap, Crowley released the now shiny and reddened nipple and set to busy himself with the other one, letting his fingers replace his mouth on the already stimulated one. Hums turned to gasps. A trail of kisses brought Crowley to Aziraphale’s pants and he undid the buttons with his teeth.

“Goodness gracious,” panted Aziraphale.

It always had this effect on the angel. Crowley went back to massaging Aziraphale’s back, up to his neck, then down again, and down, to that round ass. He buried his hands under both pants and underwear. Aziraphale lifted his hips, as if wanting to help Crowley undress him, but since the demon was still straddling his legs it wouldn’t have helped. Crowley laughed. How he loved to see his angel wanton.

Crowley settled between Aziraphale’s open legs, his arms supported on Aziraphale’s thighs, fingers digging into the fat of his hips. Then he nuzzled the angel’s member through his briefs, mouthed at it. He felt Aziraphale strain against his bonds, wanting to reach for him, to tangle his fingers in red hair. Crowley laughed against Aziraphale’s flesh and revelled in the frustrated moan that elicited.

Oh, the angel had wanted to be restrained. Well, he had gotten his wish, and would have to deal with not being able to hold Crowley or touch him. Aziraphale had little patience for frustrations of this type. All the more fun to come. As if to prove his thoughts, Aziraphale whined.

Crowley rose, Aziraphale panting heavily but not protesting. Crowley considered undressing what he could of his angel, but decided against it, snapping him naked as well as himself while he was at it. Sighing in satisfaction, he contemplated his angel, his eyes drinking the sight of him. Muscular ankles that Aziraphale had loved flaunting when it was in fashion, and long after because he was always behind, thick round thighs that still bore some fading hickeys that Crowley planned to revive. White curls that made a nest for the member now erected, flushed and leaking. Large hips so perfect to be held, protruding stomach so soft and pillowy, defined chest smooth and adorned with those pink nipples. Those straining shoulders and that neck that begged to be marked, and Aziraphale’s face. Full of longing, debauched, with blue eyes that raked over Crowley with desire and love.

Aziraphale’s hands fisted as he wanted to reach but couldn’t once again. Crowley slid his hands under those splendid legs and settled between them, Aziraphale moaning at the action, then he lifted his angel slightly, hoisting him up to relieve some of the tension on his arms. The wiggling had made him slide down a bit.

Fondly, Crowley cradled a flushed cheek, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. Aziraphale tried to kiss his palm.

“Good?” checked Crowley.

“Yes, dearest.”

“But?” prompted Crowley.

He knew Aziraphale, that little crease between his eyebrows, the way his lips smiled but hid something. The angel beamed at him, overjoyed at Crowley being able to read him like one of his beloved books. Crowley marvelled at how the angel could enjoy being bared like that, being known. Their plants dispute proved Crowley still wasn’t overly fond of that for himself.

“I didn’t foresee how much I would miss touching you, your back, your hair between my fingers,” admitted Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale gulped as he saw the sudden glint in Crowley’s eyes and the slow grin. Then he groaned in dissatisfaction as Crowley removed himself from between his legs, straddling him again. Crowley couldn’t see his reaction, he had bent his head so that his hair fell down, like a curtain. And then Crowley, like a good demon, started to torture his angel by caressing him with his hair, from thigh to throat, side to side, up and down, teasing. The shivers and pants he got in return delighted him, making him chortle in mirth.

“You sadist,” panted Aziraphale.

“Demon,” singsonged Crowley. 

Crowley added kisses, his strands still brushing his angel’s feverish skin, marking Aziraphale on his trail at the thighs, on hip, at the heart, at the throat. Then he kissed his way up the arm and kissed the right palm of Aziraphale’s hand, before resting his head there, letting Aziraphale’s fingers tangle in his locks.

Crowley sighed in pleasure at feeling those fingers in his hair, he had missed that too. He stayed wrapped around Aziraphale’s arm, one leg up on the angel’s chest for a bit, enjoying being stroked. Crowley rose again and the smitten look Aziraphale gave him made him squirm a bit. To dispatch it, Crowley kissed him, mapping his mouth slowly, stopping only to lick those delicious lips then kissing him again.

His hands had started wandering again, holding, grabbing, scratching. Satiated for now, Crowley slowly made his way down, still letting his hair graze Aziraphale in his wake. At last he nestled in the white curls that smelled so strongly of Aziraphale, nosing the proof of his effect on the angel. He blew gently on it, enjoying the tremor that shook Aziraphale and the broken moan he let out.

Gently, taking all his time, he sucked a hickey at the junction between thigh and groin. Done, Crowley lifted his head, licking his lips slowly as he held Aziraphale’s blue gaze. The angel tensed under his hands in anticipation. Crowley assured his grip on his ass and hips, bent his head, brushed the tip of Aziraphale’s member with a strand of hair, breathed on it, touched it with his lips… and went to bite the hip bone.

Aziraphale groaned and wriggled and Crowley snickered and kept teasing, promising, letting him expect it, and denying it. When his angel had lowered his guard, didn’t believe it, Crowley pretended to lift himself to maybe go for a kiss, and unceremoniously wrapped his tongue around Aziraphale’s leaking flesh.

“Crowley!” shouted Aziraphale.

He had bucked up in surprise and pleasure but Crowley’s hands had kept him grounded. Crowley had placed his arms on Aziraphale’s thighs so that he couldn’t close his legs, allowing Crowley to manhandle him as he wished, alternating between thrusting and moving Aziraphale’s hips for him.

Aziraphale trembled and cried in pleasure. Crowley was wicked with his tongue, had no gag reflex and a taste for variety. He sucked, he blew, he swallowed, he kissed, he grazed, he licked, he rubbed… all without rhyme or reason. Unpredictable.

He could feel Aziraphale shake and wriggle underneath him, and when he glanced up, he could see how strained he was, arching, tugging on his bonds, wanting to grab Crowley but unable to. Next time, Crowley would use chains, so when he couldn’t see his angel struggle in pleasure he could hear him.

“Crow… Crowley,” panted Aziraphale.

A twist of Crowley’s tongue.

“Ahh…!”

He was close, Crowley could feel it in the way he tried to escape him, yet at the same time to get more. The way he tensed, trying to push back the inevitable.

“I’m… I’m close…”

Crowley took him whole and swallowed. Aziraphale shouted. Crowley went slowly back up, letting his tongue press against the pulsing flesh in his mouth. His angel’s self-control was admirable, he had thought that would be it. But no, Aziraphale, ever stubborn, resisted. 

“Ahh! Ahhh! Stop!”

The demand was ignored. He knew Aziraphale didn’t wish to come like that, didn’t want their game to end on a blowjob. Aziraphale wanted, as always, Crowley inside of him. So Crowley continued his ministrations, edging Aziraphale always closer to his release.

“Ahhh, stop!”

Crowley did. The game was too new. He had to know for sure. Without teasing, he sat up on his heels, watching Aziraphale catching his breath.

“Do you need to say Anthony?” he asked.

“Wha… what?”

“You asked me to stop.”

“I… I don’t want to orgasm like that,” said Aziraphale.

Those pleading blue eyes, so sure he would comply. And usually, he would.

“Angel, if you don’t say Anthony, I do with you as I please. Is that clear?”

Aziraphale bit his lip Crowley could read in him the need to fidget. And Crowley realized he needed to make something else clear.

“If you say Anthony now, I will untie you and make love to you in the way you want.”

There, no pressure, no denial of anything if Aziraphale ended their new fun. Crowley gently petted Aziraphale’s flanks, fondly watching the angel squirm at the choice. On one hand instant gratification, on the other his fantasy, the unknown, the attraction of what was novel.

“Do your worst,” said Aziraphale.

He sounded very much like someone who planned to resist every step of the way. Crowley grinned.

“When I’m done with you, angel, you won’t know how to read.”

Aziraphale gasped in shock, appalled at the very idea. Then yelped as Crowley went right back to enjoying him in the same way Aziraphale relished a good dessert. Crowley chuckled as he heard Aziraphale’s head thump on the carpet, repetitively, accompanied by gasps and stifled moans.

Their little interruption had brought the angel down from the brink but Crowley had him back there good and fast. He discreetly snapped and pressed lubed fingers to Aziraphale’s entrance, rubbing and teasing as he kept giving him head. His angel cried in frustrated pleasure and outrage. Aziraphale knew Crowley didn’t intend to penetrate him… yet.

But any protest or pompous and proper oath the angel could have uttered was lost in a sea of moans and choked sounds of ecstasy. Aziraphale kept fighting, delaying his climax as if that would make Crowley change his mind. He was simply playing himself. And Crowley was a patient demon, he had waited for Aziraphale for millennia. Smirking, he started humming, letting his throat vibrate just so.

Aziraphale went taut underneath him, bucking up and released with a bitten-back scream before falling back on the carpet, panting heavily. Crowley drank him in, keeping at it until the tremors that shook the angel stopped. Straightening up, he sat on his heels, caressing Aziraphale’s legs as he settled between them. Discreetly, he lubed himself. As planned, the angel didn’t notice, still coming down.

Crowley didn’t have to look to guess Aziraphale’s face would be a mix of bliss and aggravation. He did anyway, enjoying the pout that tried to deny how Aziraphale was still tingling from his intense release.

“Crowley dea…”

The words died on his lips as Crowley breached him and bottomed out in one long jerk of his pelvis. Aziraphale’s mouth opened in a silent scream as his back arched, his eyes watering in pleasure. Without waiting, knowing his angel’s body and limits, Crowley started an unforgiving rhythm, not allowing Aziraphale to catch his breath.

Incoherent screams and whimpers punctuated the harsh slam of Crowley’s hips. His hands firmly on Aziraphale’s ass, he rocked him on his member. The angel wasn’t hard yet, too soon. Usually even when they did it multiple times, they waited, petting each other and cuddling. Not today. But Aziraphale didn’t need to be hard to reach orgasm again, one from being penetrated was different. And he was getting close, abandoned in Crowley’s hold, not even encouraging him with his legs, simply enjoying being taken, head thrown back as he cried in ecstasy.

As Aziraphale’s body spasmed around him, Crowley felt he was close, his thrusts getting shorter and shorter. His angel had grabbed his bonds and as he climaxed, Crowley following suit, a loud shrill screech could be heard, but it didn’t emit from either of them.

Blinking back the stars in his eyes, Crowley, still buried as deep as he could be in the angel, lifted his gaze from said angel’s face to his arms and tied hands. A disbelieving chortle escaped him. Aziraphale wriggled underneath him, making them both groan, and managed to twist himself enough to see what had impressed Crowley.

“Oh.”

Aziraphale had managed to move the column to which he was attached a few centimetres down. The angel blushed, but couldn’t hide a proud smirk. That slipped off his face as Crowley slid out, scooted backward a bit and dragged Aziraphale back onto his miraculously erected and lubed member.

“A… again?” panted Aziraphale.

The angel was getting hard, but the stimulation of his still-sensitive insides brought a discomfort that Crowley knew Aziraphale had never experienced nor truly thought about. But it would soon turn pleasurable again, painfully so. Languidly he pushed inside, sinking deep, then pulled out completely only to grind back in. Being penetrated was Aziraphale’s favourite sensation, and a way to give time for overstimulation to morph into intense ecstasy.

To have a better angle, more profound, and a better leverage, Crowley had thrown Aziraphale’s legs on his shoulders and miracled a cushion under the angel’s back for comfort. As he moved in and out, claiming Aziraphale and making him keen and whimper, Crowley started kissing the knee next to his face, nipping a few times.

As he had told Shakespeare, pretending to speak of someone else, Crowley would never tire of watching Aziraphale. He fed on the expressions fleeting on that expressive face, of the delectable sounds that poured from those parted lips. Aziraphale had admitted to admiring Crowley’s shameless personality. In pleasure, Aziraphale was the one unashamed, lost to it. He offered a maddening sight.

And Crowley was the one bringing this joy, this ecstasy to him.

“…. T… touch you… Ahhnn…. please… Ahh Ahhh… l… let me… touch you,” begged Aziraphale, delirious.

Crowley bit the plump flesh of his knee and sucked a hickey there. As he entered Aziraphale one more time, Crowley chased his own release, battering the angel, overwhelming him. Both of them came at the same time, Crowley growling and fighting his urge to close his eyes so he could see Aziraphale spasm and arch, as he went undone in broken whimpers.

Riding his orgasm, Crowley kept a slow gyrating movement with his hips, Aziraphale sobbing, his head rolling from side to side at the toe-curling surplus of sensation. When Crowley turned soft, he slipped out, let the angel’s legs fall back to the carpet and started lapping at the shine of perspiration that had blossomed on Aziraphale. The salty taste seemed to outline the usual flavour of the angel, like in a dish.

Kissing his way up, pausing to languorously torture a pert nipple, nipping a trail up throat and jaw, he reached Aziraphale’s ear.

“Good?” he asked.

A whine answered him. Crowley had his angel exactly where he wanted him. He took his chin and turned his head toward him, blue eyes fluttering lazily as Aziraphale caught his breath and tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Crowley kissed him deeply, wrapping his arms around him to press him close. Aziraphale could barely answer him, spent and boneless.

“Such a treat, angel,” praised Crowley.

Lingering to nose Aziraphale’s temple and curls, Crowley finally lifted himself up and went to inspect his angel’s wrists. As planned, but for a slight redness, they weren’t harmed. He unknotted one side of his scarf, allowing Aziraphale’s arms to drop a bit. With a snap, Crowley materialized a metal loop and tied his makeshift bonds on it, leaving them a bit slacker.

Aziraphale was too tired to try and move, letting his arms rest where they were, and so didn’t realize Crowley was far from done with him. The demon watched his handiwork, pleased. He would keep the ring, so that each time the angel entered the plant room, he would remember how Crowley had taken him there, helpless until all he knew was pleasure.

Massaging Aziraphale’s wrists, he tied them together, loose enough that the angel didn’t even notice it. Caressing Aziraphale’s arms with his fingertips, he crawled back down again. Kissed him sweetly and felt his angel responding to him, humming sleepily. Perfect. He was still out of it but had gathered some strength back. Crowley removed himself from his straddling position and in one smooth movement, flipped Aziraphale on his stomach.

“Crowley?” mumbled Aziraphale.

With a thought, the carpet became softer. Clever fingers tickled down shoulders, shoulder blades, then the muscles there, the spine, the dip of the back. Aziraphale hummed in contentment, even more so as Crowley started massaging him.

A startled yelp escaped the angel as Crowley grabbed his waist and pulled him down, Aziraphale suddenly feeling the tug on his wrists and understanding he hadn’t been freed.

“Wh… what?” he gasped.

“Do you need to say Anthony?” inquired Crowley.

A nail was gently snaking all around Aziraphale’s back, eliciting shivers. A thumb followed suit, burying pleasantly in the muscles, unknotting them. Aziraphale had flushed and was panting. Crowley sneaked a hand beneath the angel, teasing the generous stomach before grabbing between the legs. Aziraphale was half hard. But that wasn’t a yes.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale was shaking from repressed desire. Crowley would bet he hadn’t expected to want more and still be responsive. With a quirk of his lips, Crowley set to place him in position, pressing the angel’s chest to the carpet, keeping him there as he hoisted his hips up, putting him on his knees. Aziraphale whimpered, cushioning his head on his forearm, but letting Crowley see his flushed face, his fluttering eyelids, his panting mouth. He never deprived Crowley of the chance to watch him.

Trailing his hands up and down quivering thighs, digging them in that soft flesh, grabbing those plump ass cheeks and brushing that not-so-hidden entrance, Crowley waited.

“Please…” sobbed Aziraphale.

“Do you need to say Anthony?” insisted Crowley.

“No.”

Willing himself erected and lubed again, Crowley began rubbing his member between those soft buttocks, laughing at the desperate sounds Aziraphale made when he poked at his entrance but didn’t enter him. The angel was rocking his hips backward, breathing heavily.

“Such a sight, angel, so debauched by me, for me.”

Crowley rubbed soothing circles with his thumbs, letting a hand trail on the angel’s back, his flanks, sometimes pushing into his hair, tangling gently in the soft curls. Aziraphale was wriggling more and more, soon he would be begging for more. Crowley didn’t wait for it, he stabilized those grinding hips and pushed inside, groaning at the tightness from this position.

“You feel amazing, angel,” he praised.

“Yours,” moaned Aziraphale.

That made Crowley jerk forward involuntarily, Aziraphale crying out in bliss.

“My angel,” declared Crowley, a touch of wonder in his voice.

He leaned on Aziraphale’s back, resting there, and reached between his legs with a lubed hand, grabbing his flesh and rubbing gently. He started stroking him, slow and languid, brushing the tip with his thumb, teasing the flesh at the base. But didn’t move inside of Aziraphale, making him whine and whimper and push against him, never granting him what he wanted.

At last the angel surrendered, going pliant in his hold, sounds of pleasure dropping from his mouth like a litany. Crowley’s name in between them, broken and barely coherent. Crowley marked that offered back in hickeys, leaving a bunch of them on the shoulder blades and nape.

As Crowley felt the angel arch, just as he was about to climax, he gave a harsh squeeze and removed his hand. A wail of frustration turned into a yell of ecstasy as Crowley grabbed full hips and began to pound his angel. Deep, long thrusts just like Aziraphale enjoyed. The angel, who had risen a bit on his elbow, fell forward in wanton abandon, writhing underneath Crowley and sobbing in pleasure.

The angel started pulling on his bonds as he got closer and closer to a new release, he needed the surplus of emotion to get somewhere, and couldn’t touch Crowley. Crowley increased his rhythm and wrapped his fingers back around Aziraphale’s member. His other hands braced on the angel’s back, forcing him down into the carpet as he pounded into him faster and faster and still so deep. With a shout the angel came, his inside tightening impossibly, trapping Crowley deep inside.

With a growl and feat of will, Crowley kept himself from reaching orgasm and continued moving, gyrating his hips and thrusting in small powerful jerks. Even when Aziraphale’s tremors died down, he kept going. The angel moaned brokenly, crying and sobbing under that stimulation that was too much and yet so good.

Lost in this overwhelming pleasure, Aziraphale’s body moved forward, as if to escape its intensity. Crowley grabbed his hips and impaled him back on his member, Aziraphale screaming his name and shaking from head to toe.

A snap later, and Crowley had Aziraphale’s bonds in his hands. He pulled, forcing the angel up so that he sat fully on his lap, Crowley impossibly deep inside him. Aziraphale’s hands, still bound above his head, immediately reached for Crowley’s red hair, burrowing there. The angel moaned in simple pleasure to be finally able to touch those silky strands, to grab.

Crowley’s hands were buried in that delicious junction between thighs and hips, pushing Aziraphale down on him and jerking up at the same time. It was hard to concentrate when Aziraphale’s fingers were pulling at his hair, and his lips calling his name desperately. But Crowley was nothing if not dedicated. He kept himself in check, crept a hand up Aziraphale’s chest and started pinching and rubbing a nipple.

Soon Aziraphale - Crowley following suit, as usual - came again with a new scream, hoarse as his voice was starting to fail him. Crowley was the only thing preventing him from falling forward. The angel was trembling in exhaustion and aftershocks. Gently, Crowley laid him on his back, leaning with him so that Aziraphale’s hands didn’t have to leave his mane, granting them both this pleasure.

Then Crowley was kissing Aziraphale tenderly, proud to have the angel barely able to respond. He petted his body, massaging tired muscles. With a snap, he materialized a cloth and some cool water, refreshing his angel. He still wasn’t done. He could never get enough of Aziraphale. He pampered him a bit longer, then regretfully pried the clinging fingers from his hair to stretch Aziraphale’s arms above him and tie him again to the ring.

“Crowley,” panted Aziraphale.

His blue eyes had widened in tired surprise.

“Anthony?” asked Crowley, gently cupping his angel’s cheek.

A negative shake of the head, Aziraphale turning his face into Crowley’s palm to kiss him. Crowley shivered in delight. His angel debauched, exhausted in a pleasant way, utterly submitting to him. He had never been so pliant and it was clear he was still reeling from his multiple orgasms.

Aziraphale was panting and moaning brokenly as Crowley covered him in kisses and nips, exploring him again as if he was discovering him. He whimpered as Crowley bit at his thighs, lifting him to access his ass cheeks and marking him there.

The angel sighed as Crowley finally took his place between his legs, nudging against his welcoming entrance and pushing in without resistance. Aziraphale arched wearily, his eyes closing as pleasure sang in all his nerves. Crowley grinned, rocking slowly and enjoying the sight of his angel completely gone and abandoned to Crowley and pleasure.

Alternating with deep slow thrusts, teasing gyration of his hips, slams of his pelvis, he admired how his angel responded to him, not even pulling on his bonds as he let Crowley debauch him. Adoringly, Crowley caressed his flanks, his stomach, his chest, playful on his nipples, his throat, his face, the wet curls clinging to his forehead and nape. Crowley chuckled fondly as Aziraphale tried to kiss his palm, not quite managing it, incoherent and uncoordinated.

To give himself a better angle and more strength, Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s waist, pushing his thumbs into the slight dive in his lower back. Aziraphale spasmed, a moan turning into a cry at the action and the way Crowley took him intensified.

With a smirk and a glint of mischief in his eyes, Crowley went back to a calm, languid rhythm. Aziraphale mewled, he always enjoyed Crowley taking his time with him, loved being joined for as long as possible. Knowing that Aziraphale didn’t tire of their lovemaking melted Crowley.

Deciding to try one of his own kinks, Crowley sank his hands beneath the angel, crawling up his back to his shoulder blades, where he dug his fingers, making Aziraphale moan wretchedly. It was right where his wings connected to his body. Crowley increased the rhythm of his pelvis and as he gave a hard push, reached into another dimension and pulled, bringing Aziraphale’s wings in their reality.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open and he thrashed under Crowley, screaming in shock at the sudden wave of unbelievable pleasure that assaulted him. His white fluffy wings sprouted from his back, almost knocking down some plants but miraculously avoiding them. Crowley tangled his hands in those soft feathers, shivering at the course of energy it procured him. Ethereal wings were a mix of strong feathers and intangible power. Aziraphale’s had kept the scent of rain in them, and Crowley briefly closed his eyes as he remembered a wing draped above his head to protect him, a demon, from the rain.

“Aziraphale,” he called out amorously.

The angel’s eyes fluttered open and he tried to pant Crowley’s name but only managed a desperate moan. Crowley kissed him. The wings were twitching beneath his fingers and Crowley, making sure the rhythm of his hips was hard and deep, started combing them, petting them. They were very sensitive and Crowley’s touches made him crazy in ecstasy. He was arching, writhing, screaming, and wailing. The angel was back to pulling on his bonds, trying to find a way to relieve the torturous surplus of pleasure that assaulted him.

“Aziraphale,” murmured Crowley, reverent.

With a roll of his shoulders, Crowley let his wings unfurl, draping them around Aziraphale, bracketing him into a cocoon of darkness where yellow snake eyes were the only light. Teasingly, he let his feathers rest on Aziraphale’s feverish body, each movement making them caress him. Gracious, he allowed the angel to grab one of them into his clenching hands.

“Ahh ! Ah! Too… ahhhh! Too much! Aaaah!” whimpered the angel.

Crowley grabbed a handful of feathers, stilling his stroking of them, and slowed the grind of his hips. He bit his lip to keep control. Aziraphale sobbed underneath him, struggling. 

“N…no… ! Hhhnnn! D… don’t… stop!”

With shaking legs, Aziraphale tried to make him move again, rolling his ass to get him back deep inside of him. Crowley obliged, releasing the wings to start petting them again, wails from his angel on his trails. With the other hand, Crowley, grabbed Aziraphale’s waist and resumed his deep and powerful grinding, going faster as Aziraphale’s cries intensified.

“Scream for me, angel,” he requested.

Making sure his feathers kept teasing Aziraphale, Crowley adjusted one of them to brush his twisting face. He watched in wonder and adoration as that touch of tenderness undid Aziraphale. The angel arched as he yelled, angelic voice shining through, his whole body shaking under the force of this orgasm before going completely slack, Aziraphale having blacked out in ecstasy.

Crowley let a satisfied grin grace his features. Goal reached. He kept moving, languorous. Even as he prevented his own release by sheer will, he wanted Aziraphale to feel him come inside of him. It took moments for Aziraphale to come back to himself, only to moan wretchedly and brokenly as he realized Crowley was still taking him. His sounds of pleasure were raw and throaty and turned into keens and sobs, the angel not having enough strength remaining to vocalize his bliss.

A snap and Aziraphale’s wrists were freed. Shakily, the angel reached with one hand for Crowley’s hair, tangling in it but otherwise unable to move. His other hand remained laced with dark feathers. Crowley kissed him, drinking the hums and moans. Gently, Crowley took his angel in hand and stroked in time with the increasing slams of his hips.

With a silent half-scream half-sob, Aziraphale released again and moaned in delight as Crowley joined him, gathering him in his arms as he orgasmed in Aziraphal’s deepest part. Remaining in place, Crowley collapsed on top of his angel.

They breathed together for a while before Crowley snapped them clean and reached for the now temperate bowl of water. With a touch, it was cool again and Crowley gently refreshed his angel, making sure to be extra gentle and not stimulate Aziraphale’s frazzled nerves.

“Mine,” stated Crowley.

“Yours,” slurred Aziraphale, hoarse.

Carefully, Crowley flipped him on his stomach, arranged Aziraphale’s arms to pillow his head, and started rubbing the soothing cold cloth on his tired muscles. Then Crowley straddled his angel and started grooming his wings. A feeble chuckle came from underneath him.

“I can’t stand the state of your wings,” muttered Crowley.

“I’m not complaining, dearest.”

The angel’s voice was still raw but he seemed to have regained some strength and the usage of speech. 

“It’s not too sensitive?” inquired Crowley.

“How kind of you to ask that after shattering my mind with… how many was that?”

Definitively getting back to himself if he could be sarcastic.

“Seven orgasms,” bragged Crowley.

“Seven?” echoed Aziraphale.

Crowley waited. Aziraphale’s brows lowered, his mouth thinning.

“You fiend!” he accused, amused and aggravated.

“Didn’t hear you complain,” teased Crowley.

Seven was a sacred number, a divine one, the symbol of perfection but also of the capital sins. An ineffable number. Crowley was a blasphemer to his core.

Done with his grooming, Crowley helped Aziraphale fold his wings into another dimension. Then, he gathered him in his arms, in a princess hold, because he knew the angel loved those, and carried him to their bedroom. Crowley settled him on the bed and gently dressed him in his nightgown before nestling him in the covers. Satisfied, Crowley crawled under the sheets, still naked, and snuggled into his angel, burrowing his face into that soft stomach and bringing Aziraphale’s hands into his hair.

“You liked it?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale sighed. Crowley knew he didn’t understand why Crowley needed that validation when minutes ago Aziraphale was screaming his name and asking for more.

“It was well deserving of a wahoo.”

Crowley snorted and nuzzled deeper, wrapping himself completely around the angel as only one who didn’t know how bones worked could. He was slowly drifting to sleep.

“About your plants,” Aziraphale started.

Crowley groaned. Even fucked out of his mind, the angel couldn’t let it go. Crowley considered shutting him up again but just as the idea crossed his mind, Aziraphale started petting his hair and Crowley just couldn’t move anymore.

“Mmm?”

“How about you give me the ones that can’t keep up? As for the others, I’m sure you could find some competitive plants that would enjoy the challenge.”

“I’ll think on it.”

“Thank you, dearest.”

Both knew Crowley was done for. He never refused Aziraphale anything. Not even being kinder to himself. The next morning, Aziraphale rested with a nice book while Crowley prepared breakfast. As it cooked, Crowley went into the plant room.

He stood in the middle, his arms linked behind his back and watched his plants sternly. They shook under his gaze. Even though they had witnessed Aziraphale and Crowley’s argument, they knew better than to hope. Crowley had made sure they did. It hurt less when one knew what was coming. Crowley made a face at that thought. Aziraphale had been right, the bugger. He was projecting.

“Who wants to go to the living room with Aziraphale?” he begrudgingly asked.

Not a leaf moved. Crowley wasn’t one to believe his plants loved him. He knew they didn’t trust him. He wouldn’t have either.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer, you miserable failures! Speak now or deal with the consequences.”

Crowley waited. A plant dropped its leaves. Crowley sauntered to it, took the pot and wordlessly carried it to the living room. There he took the mint, which started to shrivel in abject terror, and marched it back into the plant room.

“There, tell them the other one arrived safely and that you’re doing good.”

Proof given, Crowley put the mint back in its spot. He walked back into the plant room. Three more plants had given up. He had expected the whole room to be honest. Maybe the others still couldn’t believe their luck.

“Here’s the deal. You heard the angel. If you fail me, you will be downgraded with the normal plants, the ones that can’t keep up!”

The remaining plants stood to attention. Crowley left them, going back to checking on the breakfast. He settled it all in the living room, and as he finished heard Aziraphale shuffle his way to him. He still looked positively debauched, markings all over, hair a mess. And impossibly cute in his nightdress with his fluffy slippers.

The angel smiled as he saw the newly arrived plants. He went to them, petting their leaves and cooing gently.

“You did well, my dears. I’m very proud of you. You did your best and now you get to rest. I will take very good care of you. You are perfect as you are.”

Crowley pretended he didn’t notice the coy glances Aziraphale sent his way. He knew very well those words were also aimed at him. He wasn’t going to give the angel that satisfaction. He was far too soft for a demon already.

As Aziraphale cuddled to his side to eat, Crowley fed him the orange he had started peeling, enjoying the little hums of appreciation his angel made.

## ***

They were in the library, in the back room, on the couch, Crowley leaning on one side, his legs on Aziraphale’s lap, the angel’s hands under his clothes, on his naked shins, shoes and socks having been deemed bothersome and discarded somewhere. A copious amount of alcohol had been drunk, and they were well past being completely hammered.

Crowley’s last plan had been a total riot and they had celebrated, and recovered from their emotions, in their usual manner. How they had ended up talking about dolphins was anyone’s guess. Except if you asked God, because She was all knowing, but none of the interested parties had any wish to.

“They’re mammals, I tell you,” insisted Crowley.

“No, they live in the ssssea, they are fissshessss,” slurred Aziraphale, and promptly giggled. “Lisssten Crowley, I’m hisssssing like you!” 

Crowley shook his head, or was it his finger? Or both?

“Come on, angel, are sea serpents fishes?”

“They are serpents, it’s different, Crowley. Dolphins can’t get out of water, so they’re fishes.”

Aziraphale was nodding to himself, agreeing with his own point.

“Mammals.”

“Fishes.”

“Mammals.”

“Fine -” testily replied Aziraphale.

“Ah!” exclaimed Crowley, cutting off his angel in premature victory.

Said angel glowered at him, his eyes crossing.

“If you insist on being difficult, let’s ask a book!” finished Aziraphale, triumphant.

They stared at each other in defiance and, without a word exchanged, decided to sober up. This was serious business. Crowley sprang from the couch to go get his mobile phone on Aziraphale’s desk, the latter went to his books that were liable to have the answer.

“Don’t take only old books!” called Crowley. 

To be sure he would be listened to, Crowley went into the other part of the library, with books people could touch, and gathered the ones he needed. At the same time he tapped on his phone to get Wikipedia’s answer and grinned as he was proved right. (Internet was always instantaneous for Crowley, except when he was messing up the network.)

Both Crowley and Aziraphale came back to the couch with their findings, sized each other up, giggled like schoolboys and kissed tenderly, before going back to business.

“See, fishes!” said Aziraphale, brandishing an antique book.

“Mammals!” argued Crowley, with his phone.

“You can’t believe everything on the internet.”

Crowley had expected that argument and brandished a book, tapping with a black polished nail at the word “mammals” written under a picture of a dolphin. Aziraphale pouted, shoving more books saying the contrary into Crowley’s arms.

“No, angel, recent science is official. Mammals.”

Adjusting his glasses, which he had fetched for the occasion, Aziraphale took the time to read the explanation, humming and nodding along.

“Very well. You’re right, dear.”

Crowley’s grin was fit for a snake opening his mouth to swallow a full hyena.

“Or at least you’ve been right for a few years, while I have been for millennia,” pointed out Aziraphale, looking very much holier than thou.

“That’s not how it works!”

Aziraphale lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh? How was I supposed to know that about dolphins if the humans didn’t?”

“They can’t have discovered that so late, let me check!”

Crowley wasn’t going to declare forfeit so easily.

“Ah! They’ve known since the 13th century! Even you have to admit it’s not _recent_!”

“So you’ve been right for eight centuries and me for many many many more.”

“You are such a bastard,” said Crowley, unable to stop smiling.

“I did say you were right, dear.”

Crowley imitated him sarcastically and proceeded to gather all the books to put them away. Later, he would discover that Aristotle had considered them mammals, and that knowledge had been lost during the dark ages. Aziraphale would then argue that the Japanese still considered dolphins to be fish in their laws. 

As Crowley tidied up, Aziraphale went to get his coat and readied himself to go back to their flat. When Crowley joined him, the angel linked their arms together and looked at him with fondness.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“How about we get a cottage in the south downs?”

Crowley blinked at his angel, who went on, unbothered.

“With a nice garden for your plants. We could commute here.”

This was a new stepping stone for their relationship. They had invaded each other’s nests, Crowley in Aziraphale’s bookshop (now library), Aziraphale in Crowley’s impersonal flat now a proper home. A cottage?

“Sure, angel, anything you want.”

Aziraphale smiled joyfully at him. It was a nice night, they walked home rather than take the Bentley. Aziraphale hummed “I will follow Him” from Sister Act.

“ _I will follow Him_

_Follow Him wherever He may go,_

_And near Him, I always will be_

_For nothing can keep me away,_

_He is my destiny._ ” (2)

Aziraphale hadn’t changed the pronouns for God, as he usually did. Because, Crowley realized, this song wasn’t for Her. Yes. Crowley agreed with his angel. It was time they constructed a nest together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) He did:  
> https://neil-gaiman.tumblr.com/post/187597830776/hello-mr-gaiman-i-hope-you-are-having-a-good  
> (2) the lyrics that I invite you to read :  
> https://greatsong.net/PAROLES-SISTER-ACT,I-WILL-FOLLOW-HIM,1386058.html
> 
> To people who left Kudos and especially reviews: THANK YOU. It means so much for a writer and I know leaving reviews isn’t always easy, so thank you from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> If you read now that it is finish, even if it is years later, do not hesitate to leave a review, I will love it :)


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